


when the sun kicks out

by soofyahn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Zayn's departure, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, extensive emotional journeys you never signed up for, negative self-talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soofyahn/pseuds/soofyahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <i>“He’s supposed to be in love with the girl across the castle, the lovely girl with blue eyes who’s laughing with her bridesmaids all flocked around her, fawning over her dress and her makeup and her hair. He’s supposed to be smiling and feeling invincible, feeling on top of the world, and he was supposed to be thinking of her when his mum talked about soul mates. Zayn should be thinking of her. Zayn should be. He should.</i>
</p><p>  <i>He’s thinking of him.”</i><br/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic might be hard to read for some, as it is a future fic that does mention Zayn's future without One Direction, and includes some feelings/reflection involving it all. This is an angsty fic but hopefully it isn't too hard to get through with everything that has happened, and it does have a happy ending that I hope is worth all the sadness. I've been working on this fic since March 2014 and put a lot of effort into it, probably too much effort. I hope some of you enjoy it still, even with everything that's happened, because I am really proud of this. This is the first long fic I have ever completed in all my years of reading and writing fic for this fandom and many others. 
> 
> Now onto dedications. I'm needy as hell when I write and I require a lot of praise and attention while simultaneously demanding constructive criticism. Most of these people literally listened to me whine about this for months and months, probably praying that one of these days I'd actually shut up and finish something for once. First and foremost, to my betas Jarka and Kacy, as well as my cheerleaders, Katie, Chrissy, Karla, Héla, Ayelet, Ana, Sara, Alana, Kiana, Kait, Aimee, Ellen, all of those in the ziam af whatsapp chat, and probably many others than I'm forgetting who listened to me ramble about this for far too long and also read parts of this fic in its most underdeveloped stages. Thanks for your endless support and patience.
> 
> Featuring stunning artwork by the lovely Louelle that you can see [here](http://zaynscremebruleeart.tumblr.com/tagged/when-the-sun-kicks-out) on tumblr.

There’s a tall mirror, an extravagant frame lining the outside, and Zayn’s eyes are fixed on his reflection. He blinks at himself, trying to understand how he got here to this moment. Thinks about missed phone calls and long bus rides, miles of distance and smiling at strangers and holding onto hands like they might save him from his thoughts. He thinks about contracts and brown eyes that were perpetually filled with concern and ten-hour long rehearsals that robbed him of his sanity and flying across the world to spend the night with a person who silenced the endless thunderstorms shrieking in his skull. He thinks of sharing cigarettes and meeting people he’d only seen through the light of his television screen and staining his skin with ink because he thought himself a blank canvas, craving to fill empty space, always doodling along the edges of their lyric sheets.

He blinks. How did he get here?

There’s a ringing in his ears and a bustling outside the door and his phone has been buzzing all day with congratulations and questions and well wishes. Zayn’s taken two Tylenol to numb the headache piercing his skull. He spitefully wishes this was an appropriate occasion to drink. He’ll have to wait until after the vows are exchanged, he supposes.

Today is Zayn’s wedding day.

There have been two-thousand people running around a fucking castle all morning and he’s got half of a twenty-thousand pound tuxedo hugging his frame and there’s a wedding cake being flown in from across the world and he’s got his family coming in from every part of the bloody country. There’s a lovely girl across the castle putting on a lovely gown and getting primped and pampered for the most important day of her life. Of his life.

He smiles at himself, thinking about all of these impossible things happening to him today, trying to push away any of the anxiety knotting in his stomach.

He closes his eyes, dropping his smile. It doesn’t work.

His coat is still hanging on the rack and he’s barefoot, but his shirt is buttoned up, pants are freshly pressed. Hair and makeup won’t be here for a while, he thinks, and he opens his eyes as he runs a hand over his flat hair, tugging at it and frowning at himself.

The world is kind of spinning right now, and he’s been locked in this ridiculously large room for a little over an hour. He feels like he’s going a little crazy. He’s going more than a little crazy.

He needs. Zayn needs someone.

Just then, the door opens, and he spins on his feet.

He calms at the sight, his face breaking into a thankful smile.

“Hello, sunshine,” his mother says sweetly, beaming at him. He feels warmth spread throughout his chest at the nickname, and she opens his arms to him as she crosses the room.

“Hi, mummy,” he says softly, her presence immediately calming all those knots of anxiety humming inside of him. She wraps herself around his neck and he falls into it, hugging her as tightly as his arms will allow.

“How’s my favourite boy?” she says into his ear, still holding him close.

Zayn swallows. “Never better,” he answers, glad that he’s not met with her eyes as he says it.

She pulls away from him then, and Zayn stomach drops. He counts to ten, thinks about what’s going to happen today. He thinks about how his life is going to change forever. Thinks about phone calls sent straight to voice mail at one in the morning and burying himself inside his own denial. He thinks about soft brown eyes and stops himself and thinks about blue eyes instead.

She’s eyeing him curiously, as he thinks these thoughts.

It’s a long moment of her just looking at him, like she’s waiting for him to say something, but he just purses his lips and hopes he looks a little less hopeless than he feels.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important,” she says seriously.

She’s wearing a beautiful gown and her hair is done up with a pair of diamond earrings he bought for her last mother’s day adorning her ears. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, he thinks.

He’s always been a mummy’s boy.

“What is it?” he says, voice still as soft as before.

“Come, sit,” she says, and gestures over to the posh couch pushed up under the window. He follows her over there, perching on the edge of the seat which is not nearly as comfortable as he hoped. This entire building is filled with things that are too beautiful and expensive to be touched.

“What is it?” he says again after a moment. She’s looking at him with these eyes that are making a million questions run through his head.

“I wanted to tell you something about love and soul mates. A little motherly wisdom,” she says with a small smile, reaching over to rest her palm on Zayn’s knee.

He feels nauseous, but he smiles a bit and nods as a signal for her to continue.

“I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I know a thing or two about love.” Her smile widens, and he sees tears brimming at her waterline. “I know that right now you must feel on top of the world, and ready to burst with happiness, but I want you to know that even with the right person, these feelings might not always last.”

He nods, lacing his fingers together in attempt to keep them from shaking so damn hard.

She continues, “The thing about soul mates, I’ve found, is they aren’t simply a person that makes you happy. They make you angry, sometimes. Sometimes they act like a right lunatic and you’re ridden with anger, and the things they do don’t make any sense. Sometimes you will feel overwhelmed by them, the way they say your name, maybe the way they always make your tea the way you like. I know it sounds silly, but a soul mate is quite the person. They, unfortunately, do not have the power to always make you feel happy. But, instead, they make you feel the most. Of everything. The most anger and the most fear and the most wonderment,” she says, voice soft. “Sometimes they will do hurtful things without realizing it, and they will apologise, and you will feel pain anyway. Sometimes they will do everything right and you will not feel good enough for them. And sometimes, Zayn, my dear boy, they might not love you the way you need them to. Sometimes they forget to make you tea and fall asleep before you make it home to kiss them goodnight.”

Zayn feels his eyes prickling with tears, and tries to count to ten. He tries.

She’s still smiling when she says, “But do not hold them at fault for their mistakes. There will be nights that you fall asleep too early, too, and important dates that you miss and gifts you didn’t know you were supposed to buy. They should forgive you just as you should forgive them.”

She looks at him as she says all of this, voice careful like she’s reading off of a paper, but this is all coming from her brilliant mind. She’s a lot smarter than she gives herself credit for, he thinks.

“I want you to know that love is not an endless joyride,” she says, laughing a bit. “It’s hard, probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, second to raising teenagers.”

He laughs a bit at that, then bites his tongue to keep himself from crying.

“Love will ask things of you that you don’t know how to give, but you’ll figure out how to give them, anyway. Love will make you do strange, wonderful things,” she says, and puts her hand on top of both of his. “And I can’t wait to see you learn and grow from learning how to love, and spend your life with your soul mate by your side.”

It’s at that moment that she starts crying, and he’s hugging her to his chest, and feeling like his chest is going to collapse, and feeling like his entire world is going to collapse.

He hushes her and holds her close and rubs soothing circles onto her back, and she promises these are happy tears, and he believes her. He knows.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve gone and made a mess of myself, haven’t I?” she says after she’s calmed down, tears streaking her cheeks and mascara clumping her eyelashes together.

“You look perfect, mum,” he says, voice wet. She smiles at him brilliantly.

“My favourite boy,” she says, bringing her hand up to his cheek. He feels nauseous.

She presses a kiss to his cheek before leaving him, promising him that she’ll try not to cry too much this evening. He chokes out a strangled laugh and she must not notice how he’s coming apart at the seams, because she shuts the door and leaves him to sit with himself.

He stands up, ripping at his hair, feeling the tears threatening to spill but squeezing his eyes shut and trying to send them back from the ocean churning inside of him.

It’s four whole minutes of pacing the room before he finally loses it.

Something quite vital inside of him breaks, and it’s like the whole world goes white for a moment. It’s like he’s passed out, but he can see, and he can think, and the world is so quiet for a second. It’s him and he’s falling and everything shuts up. Finally. Finally.

He falls onto the floor and he’s beating the breath out of his own lungs and –

Zayn cries. He sobs into his knees and he just. He lets go, in a way that he never knew he could. In a way that doesn’t feel exhilarating or thrilling or freeing. He lets go but he feels as trapped as ever. He feels as hopeless as ever.

He’s supposed to be in love with the girl across the castle, the lovely girl with blue eyes who’s laughing with her bridesmaids all flocked around her, fawning over her dress and her makeup and her hair. He’s supposed to be smiling and feeling invincible, feeling on top of the world, and he was supposed to be thinking of her when his mum talked about soul mates. Zayn should be thinking of her. Zayn should be. He should.

He’s thinking of him.

Brown eyes, and they’re…

He’s thinking of feeling invincible at five in the morning and laughing at the sound of Liam laughing, holding up his palms for him to slap against on stage and falling down on bathroom floors, sick to his stomach because he can’t turn any of these feelings off. The drawings Zayn made late at night, huddled in his bunk, and the way Liam thanked him for sharing them with him, like Zayn had done anything at all, like Zayn was worth thanking. Dancing alone in hotel rooms to rap music and curling his hands around Liam’s arms when he was lonely and begging him to come visit his family, come see his sisters, they’re dying to see him. Holding onto the promises they made in the dark to one another six years ago. Confusion, and loyalty, and feeling devoted and separated all at once. Comfort in the warmth of his sweaters and being woken up by calloused fingers tracing patterns on his cheek and crossing paths accidentally on purpose and feeling something more in falsettos and the burning in his throat when he’s had to force himself to look away.

Zayn is thinking of watching him destroy himself and not saying anything because he was so fucking _scared_ and hearing the lilting anger in his voice every time he spoke of Zayn’s bride-to-be. He’s thinking of knowing green eyes the day he decided to leave and not asking the important questions and forgetting where time began for them, where they became bandmates and where they became best friends and where they became co-dependent, as vital as life-support, like oxygen filtering into a patient on a table receiving open-heart surgery.

He’s supposed to be thinking of her.

And Zayn is ruining his life.

Open-heart surgery and slamming his fists into walls when he was too drunk to care about scars and questions and thinking about wanting things he’ll never have, waking up feverish and sweating and not remembering his own nightmares. Tattoo parlors and drunken kisses and laughing about it the morning after, laughing about it two weeks after, never talking about it again. All of those times Liam looked so broken and Zayn felt himself shut down instead of saying something. All of those times Liam looked so fucking happy and Zayn tore himself apart because he was useless.

Zayn cries because he’s ruining his life and this wedding is the most expensive thing he’s ever bought and her family is so happy, and they all like him so much, and his friends are congratulating him and no one knows that Zayn is falling apart in half of a twenty-thousand pound suit in the middle of the castle.

That is, until, of course, Louis walks in.

Louis gasps his name, shutting the door and locking it before crossing the room, and he’s at Zayn’s side.

“Zayn, Zayn, what’s wrong? Zayn?” Louis asks frantically, but Zayn can’t move. He can’t stop crying into his knees. He can’t choke down the ocean churning inside of him. “What _happened?_ Zayn?”

Zayn shakes his head because he is ruining his life. Brown eyes and open-heart surgery and being an onlooker, forgetting to live his life and staying on autopilot as it whirs by him, moment by moment.

“Zayn, babe, please talk to me,” Louis begs.

Zayn feels sorry. Impossibly sorry. He wants to say that he’s sorry.

She deserves more than a sorry, she deserves a wedding in a castle and the most expensive gown money can buy and a flock of bridesmaids fluttering around her. She deserves a kind, thoughtful husband who doesn’t think of other men’s lips and their calloused fingertips and –

Zayn is so sorry.

He can’t speak. He wants to apologise to Louis, to apologise to her, to apologise but he just sobs as these arms come around him. Louis won’t stop asking questions. There’s too many questions.

“Did something happen? You – you can just nod, if you need to, babe,” Louis says softly, as softly as he’s ever heard Louis speak, Zayn thinks.

Zayn lifts his head from his knees, feeling like his brain weighs a thousand tons. He shakes his head and has never felt so incomplete, so lost in his entire life.

They make you feel the most, his mother had said, of everything.

Of everything.

“Do you need me to put a stop to it?” Louis asks suddenly.

And Zayn…

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Put a stop to it. Ruin his life, he’s ruining his life, and he’s ruining _her_ life. She deserves this. She deserves more, and Zayn deserves nothing.

He shrugs, feeling dumb and useless.

“Zayn, tell me, and I’ll do it. I’ll put an end to it all, if you don’t want this right now,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to the side of Zayn’s face. “You know I will.”

He sits there for a moment, trying to calm his breathing, trying to ground himself on something other than drunken kisses and calloused fingers tracing patterns on his cheek and –

“I can’t do it,” he says brokenly. “I can’t. I can’t. I. I…”

He’s supposed to be thinking of her. Blue eyes. He tries and tries and he always fails, doesn’t he? He always fucks it up.

It’s been four years of this, nearly, and years before then, too. He can’t fucking train his brain, put an end to these thoughts. He’s gotten his distance, he’s started new life, he’s done everything he knows how to do. And just when he’s convinced himself that he’s fine, he’s happy, he’s met with those eyes and stumbles over the curve of his smile, getting caught up in the sound of his laugh.

“Okay,” Louis says immediately, but Zayn doesn’t feel relieved at all, doesn’t feel like he’s taking away any of Zayn’s anxiety. “Okay. I’ll take care of it, babe.”

He should thank Louis, probably, but Zayn feels terrible. He feels like he shouldn’t be here at all; he doesn’t deserve this life and this fame and this money. He doesn’t deserve the boys and the kindness and support they gave to him over the years, even when he decided he couldn’t do it anymore. He doesn’t deserve half of a twenty-thousand pound tuxedo and a beautiful bride-to-be giggling across the castle. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

He feels like locking himself away forever and ever. He just might. He just might.

“I’ve got to go take care of things, and you need to try to calm down, alright?” Louis says, detaching his limbs from Zayn’s shaking frame. “I’ll get it taken care of, don’t you worry.”

And he’s starting to leave, and he’s opening the door, and –

“Oh, Liam, thank god – please watch Zayn, he’s... I have to go put an end to all this, just – just take care of him, please?”

And the door’s shutting again and Louis is gone and Zayn looks up, and.

The air kind of whooshes out of his lungs, and everything goes white again for a minute, like before.

He hasn’t seen Liam in months, before yesterday. The rehearsal dinner. He was so quiet and Zayn just misses him, misses everything about him, misses everything.

He’s standing there, brown eyes wide and dumbfounded and confused. He’s standing there in a tuxedo with his hair styled and he’s just. Standing there.

Zayn wishes he could calm down. His breath is hitching and his chest is heaving, eyes burning. He’s thinking that this is tearing him apart from the inside out, thinking that this feels like open-heart surgery, and he can’t find quiet. He can’t make his thoughts stop (he should be thinking of her) and everything is so numbingly loud. He wishes he could stop.

“What is – um, what’s going on?”

And Liam sounds so confused, and so concerned, and he’s looking at Zayn.

It’s like that night three years ago. The bathroom in the hotel in Los Angeles. And it’s like all those nights before, after shows and on the off days and in foreign countries and standing on stage, and it’s like so many things.

It’s just so.

Everything’s just so.

Zayn doesn't know love in the way his mother talked about earlier. He isn’t lucky enough to love in mindless joy, or mascara running down her cheeks when the distance was too much, or trying to calm down his heart palpitations at the anticipation of his wedding day. Zayn doesn't know love in these ways, not in the conventional ways, not in the ways that mend his bones and soothe his headaches. He doesn’t know love in someone loving him back. He doesn’t know love, not like that, but most days he wishes he did. He wishes he knew love in the right ways, and with the right person, with the person who loves him shamelessly and endlessly.

He knows love in the shape of a boy who cradled him like a baby when he passed out drunk on the bathroom floor. He knows love in singing love songs to the wrong person, in mornings when he woke up with sheets knotted around his ankles and a pair of blushing cheeks letting him know it was half-past noon. He knows love in the arm curled around his side as a flurry of flashes harass his vision, and not having an excuse for how broken all this makes him feel. He knows love in little aborted movements and biting back the tears stinging his eyes and the taste of that drunken kiss and justifying the crave of this other boy's limbs pressed up against his own by years of friendship, he's like a brother to me, he’s vital.

Zayn only knows love in these broken little fragments of thoughts and moments and in the headaches and raw emotion he never let himself give a name to before.

Zayn only knows love in the boy standing across from him, looking at him like he's something useless, worthy of pity. Like he's a train wreck.

Zayn feels like something useless.

It's a shame he knows love this way. It's a shame he knows love at all, really.

“Can you – can you talk? Do you want me to – “

His eyes are so concerned and he looks so nice in that tux; he’s got these shoulders that fill it out so well and his shoes are shiny. He’s perfect. He’s.

Zayn wishes for a lot of things, sometimes. He’ll catch the clock and close his eyes as he wraps his lips around his fourth cigarette that hour and wish. He’ll hum a melody and wish, and blow out candles and wish, and drop a penny in a fountain and look out his bedroom window and consider it might be something worth wishing for. He hates wasting wishes on lost causes. But he does.

Liam’s moved a little closer to him, and he’s always been moving a little closer to him, Zayn thinks. Before, there hadn’t been much space they leave untouched most days. It’s strange, is the thing, because Zayn’s never had Liam the way he’s wanted him, but he’s held him so much closer than most. Zayn’s never shared an intimate moment with the other boy (sober, at least) yet he’s never been touched so intimately before, the soft fingers at the back of his neck and the way he bumps their hips together and wraps his arms around his torso. He touches his hair and presses smiles against his cheeks and Zayn could live on this and nothing else. He could live on the thrill of Liam alone, and nothing else.

Liam’s eyes are wide and he looks so lost.

Zayn feels sorry, he feels so sorry, he’s so sorry.

“Zayn, it’s – it’s fine, don’t apologise,” Liam saying as he draws near and he must’ve said that out loud, oh no, he’s…

Liam is in his space and holding him just like Louis except he’s never been touched so intimately. “You’re fine,” Liam tells him, “Calm down, Zayn. You’re sobbing, darling.”

He’s running his fingers through Zayn’s hair and Zayn feels like something useless.

Liam looked at him and it all went white, and he’s here now, and he’s touching him, and nothing is the same but everything about this is the exactly same. Because Zayn wants this, with everything in him, but he doesn’t want any of this at all anymore.

He’s awfully selfish, is the thing. Maybe if he weren’t so damned selfish this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe he could make a pretty girl with blue eyes happy. Maybe it would be enough for him.

But nothing is enough for him, he’s realised. It’s suffocating and it makes him want to destroy all of his possessions. Delete his contact list. It makes him want to start all over, go to university and change his name and major in history, maybe English, maybe fucking philosophy, and get wrapped up in his studies and too much coffee and making perfect grades.

It’s weird how he can see this life for himself. It’s weird how there’s so many alternative routes they could’ve taken, how he could’ve met all the boys other places, how he could’ve lived his life not having met them at all.

He feels these fingers through his hair and he’s not sure about wanting a life without this, even for all the shit it’s caused him.

"Zayn. Please talk to me."

Liam seems exhausted, and Zayn is fucking exhausted, too. He’s fighting himself and Louis is putting an end to everything and this wonderful, perfect boy is cuddling him like he deserves any consolation at all. He missed him so much.

It's a fucking tragedy.

Zayn can't talk to Liam, is the thing. He can't fucking spill his guts about his problems _to_ the problem. He can’t look into his eyes and give any kind of reason for this, explain any of what he feels.

He shakes his head no. "Just. Just leave me be."

It's a simple request. Liam could easily leave and let him wallow in his misery for a few hours before he has to go and face the world. He wants that. He wants Liam to leave and not feel so guilty because the loveliest boy treats him like he’s special, even as he’s falling apart on his wedding day, even though he’s ruined his life.

"I'm not going anywhere until you _talk_ , Zayn. We - well, we _used_ to be best mates, but - it’s all gone weird since -.” He stops, clears his throat. “But it doesn’t - it doesn’t mean - you know I'm still here for you, though. Doesn’t change anything. Nothing could, I think."

Liam's words are soft and genuine and it'd be so easy for Zayn to get wrapped up in them, and spill his heart, but he just _can’t._

"No,” he says, and the sound of his voice is awfully pathetic, even to his own ears. “I don't need a babysitter, alright and I'm. I just want to be…alone. Please."

Liam’s arms are gone but then -

"Fucking give it up, won't you?" Liam bites suddenly and Zayn grows cold. "I'm here and I fucking care about you, yeah? You're crying in a tux on your wedding day and the entire fucking building is freaking the fuck out and I'm trying to be there for you. Don't shove me out. I'm tired of it."

Zayn breaks all over again.

Because he has been keeping Liam at a distance, of course he has, because he left and he wanted a life and a wedding and a fucking escape from it all, but he can't look at him without considering calling off the entire thing and that's - that's what he's done now, hasn't he? He's called off the entire thing and Liam looks so frustrated and Zayn's tired of crying and he's tired of lying. He’s tired of leaving when things get too hard. He's fucked up his entire life because he can't handle his emotions and -

"It's - I'm fucking - God damnit, Liam," Zayn curses, shoving the heels of his palms into eyes. "It's you, alright? Fuck. It’s – you."

He didn't - Zayn didn't mean to. Zayn didn’t mean to say that. He’s lost his head, he’s lost his head and he’s so fucked up. He’s fucked it up. He’s _so fucked._

"What do you mean?" Liam asks, frustration melting and confusion settling into his features.

Zayn swallows, lifts his head to stare at his knees. He takes a breath. His lungs don’t feel any less burdened, unfortunately.

"I fucked my entire life up, Liam, 'cause I'm – I’ve been in love with you." He closes his eyes, feeling significantly less than whole, wondering if he ever was whole to begin with. "I'm so, so sorry."

He has so much to apologise for.

He feels a shift in the air then, and maybe he's imagined it, but when he opens his eyes Liam is shaking his head at the floor and looks close to tears as well. He’s not touching him anymore.

"I'm sorry," he tells Liam again, voice breaking. "I tried not to - yeah? I tried -"

"I can't do this," Liam says suddenly, standing up. "I absolutely cannot do this right now."

He's leaving, and Zayn's head is spinning. He thinks he might pass out.

Liam is leaving him, just like he'd ask. But now it's. It's because.

Zayn is such a fuck up.

"Wait," he finds himself saying. "Don't - don't." The _go_ hangs there in his throat.

Liam pauses, and Zayn's never seen him so carefully stoic before. He turns, slightly. "I - I can't, Zayn."

The door closes and Zayn figures he deserves that. He deserves the rejection. He deserves to be shunned and locked up in a room for the rest of his life, deserves abandonment and despair and solitude. He’s useless. He should’ve thought of her, he should’ve thought of something other than his fucking _self_ for once in his damn life.

He told Liam the truth and he left, and. He deserves that.

Maybe, one of these days, Zayn will learn.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Liam! Liam, _god damnit_ – ,“ Niall huffs, grabbing onto Liam’s elbow, “wait up, you son of a – “

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Liam says, feeling the air strangling his throat, feeling beads of sweat gather on his forehead. There’s people everywhere and he’s not quite claustrophobic, never freaking out in the way Niall does in these sort of situations, but he’s going mad right now.

The sea of people are shouting - in confusion, in anger, in concern – and Liam can’t really focus on that right now, can’t focus in on what they’re saying, because –

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he says again, and it comes out like whimper, like he’s pleading with Niall.

Niall squares him with a look, and Liam feels like a train wreck. He’s absolutely certain he’s shaking. After a moment, Niall gives a short, curt nod. “I’ll fetch a car.”

They finally make it out of the damned castle, navigating through all these fucking people Liam’s never seen in his life – to be fair, a good amount of them have got to be her family, too, he supposes – and Liam nearly falls to his knees once he’s gotten some fresh air.

“Whoa – hey, careful, careful,” Niall’s saying as his arms come around Liam’s shoulders.

Liam hasn’t had a panic attack before, he doesn’t think. He hasn’t properly freaked out (not over him, not since, not since…) in ages, somehow slipping out of the overly worried, sensible teen and exchanging it for a calm, laid-back demeanor.

But Niall’s holding him together, and he’s always been so thankful for Niall, and Liam’s fucking shaking, and he’s going to be fucking sick, and –

“Where’s the damned car?” Niall barks, in a way very much unlike Niall, in a way that Liam has only seen when something has gone truly and entirely wrong.

Something has gone truly and entirely wrong.

Today was not supposed to go this way.

A few minutes later, a car appears, and Niall is opening the door and hauling Liam into the back seat. The door shuts after Niall slides in beside him, and after Niall makes an exchange with the driver, he turns to Liam.

It’s a strange thing, when you’ve hushed a part of your soul, when you’ve silenced a part of your livelihood, and it’s so easy to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s so strange, how you can learn how to make tight-lipped smiles seem genuine and not lean into touches that don’t really mean anything anyway and choke down apologies so that they don’t leak out into the open air, vulnerable and pathetic.

Liam had convinced himself that today was supposed to happen, this was in the cards, this was what his life was going to look like from now on. It’s – it was so easy, actually, to brainwash himself into believing that loving someone was so unnecessary and wrong and selfish. It was easy to slip on this tux and sit through the rehearsal dinner and smile at strangers, kiss Zayn’s sisters on the cheek, laugh fondly when his mum started weeping over absolutely nothing. These things were easy, falling into place so effortlessly with all of the other ideas and notions Liam had convinced himself of over the years. Zayn was happy, he was getting married to the girl of his dreams, and Liam was alone because he’d finally grown tired of convincing girls of lies.

What just happened, whatever that was, was not at all easy for Liam to wrap his head around.

It kind of goes against everything Liam believes, everything Liam agrees to be right and correct and just.

Liam can’t really – fuck. He can’t fucking do this.

He’s going to need a therapist, before all of this is over.

“Mate, what’s going on?” Niall says gently, a warm hand curling around the side of his neck.

Liam’s got his head in his hands and he feels like jumping out of the car and hurling himself into the England countryside.

“I couldn’t be there anymore,” he tells Niall, softly, feeling like his words are revealing some tightly-bound secret that withered away inside his chest over years of denial. “I couldn’t.”

When he glances up, he feels tears prickling in his eyes, and he feels impossibly stupid, and it’s the most awful thing.

Niall is quiet. He’s frowning, and his hand doesn’t move from Liam’s neck, and he just holds Liam’s gaze. There’s nothing to say, really, is the thing. There’s nothing to say because surely Niall gets what he means - but Niall doesn’t know what just happened. No one knows what just fucking happened.

Liam’s not even quite sure what just happened.

It’s different when there are years of unanswered questions and drunken kisses and forgetting to speak up when something hurts, when it all becomes too much and too loud and too foreign for him to understand. Years of aching and downing alcohol to forget the stubble on his cheek and smiling politely when she pressed herself against his side. Years of it all, of catching eyes on his in the strangest of times and joking around during tour rehearsals and holding his hand because he needed someone, okay, that’s all it was, he didn’t -

“So, you love him,” Niall says, and it feels a lot like someone is wrapping their fingers around Liam’s neck and choking him. It feels like someone is using his lungs as punching bags.

“Yeah,” Liam says, softly. “But that isn’t the problem.”

Niall hums in his Niall-like way, and leans back in his seat, admiring the England countryside for a moment before reconnecting their gaze.

“So what’d you s’pose the problem is, then?”

Liam’s heart is hammering in his chest and he’s going nuts, is the thing, and he really needs a fucking therapist.

He also really needs some fucking alcohol.

“I need a drink,” he declares suddenly. “Nearest bar?” He says in the direction of the driver. The driver glances up in the rearview mirror briefly, then returns his gaze to the road.

“We’ve got an hour or so before we’re at any part of the city, I’m afraid.”

“Fuck,” Liam bites, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Liam,” Niall says, and he sounds awfully worried, and Liam is immensely guilty but also immensely distracted with the choking sensation around his throat. He tugs off his tie, unbuttons his shirt and rubs at his neck.

“I _really_ don’t want to talk about it, Niall,” Liam tries. “Really. I just want to forget about it, do something else, and act like I don’t care.”

And the thing is, that should be the end of it. For everything Liam knows of Niall, which is quite a bit, this would be the point where Niall backs off and lets it go for now. Niall does not press and push, doesn’t drag things out of people that refuse to talk about their feelings. Niall takes care of all of them, but he doesn’t pry. He listens when you need him to and he’s there for you when you don’t want to talk. It’s just how Niall is.

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Niall is not letting this slide.

“No,” Niall says. “Liam, this - something has happened, has been happening, I think, and we’ve all let you stay quiet about it for too damn long - “

Liam tries, “Niall - “

“ _No,_ ” Niall says, narrowing his eyes at Liam now, and Liam feels a bit like a kicked puppy. “And don’t pout at me either, Payne, I’m not gonna deal with it. It’s miserable watching you fucking fall apart in front of me and you won’t say a damned thing. How long has this been going on?”

Liam wants to cry. He’s tearing up already, feeling the weight of everything press on him so heavily, and it’s. It’s too much.

“I don’t even know,” is what Liam says. “I really don’t. ‘S been so long, Niall.”

Niall frowns at him. “How come you never talked to me?”

“I couldn’t,” Liam says, furiously rubbing at his eyes. “I couldn’t, it was too much and I - I had to ignore it, yeah? Pretend it wasn’t there.” Liam lifts his gaze to look out the window, all of the nothingness passing them by. Trees and plains and tiny houses. “He was so happy.”

“Obviously not,” Niall snorts, but his hand’s on Liam’s knee, and Liam appreciates the familiar touch.

“It sure seemed like he was,” Liam says to his shoes. They’re awfully shiny. He’s not sure of the designer, hadn’t checked to look, but he absent mindedly wonders how much a pair of stupid shoes for a stupid wedding that didn’t even happen costs. What a waste, Liam thinks.

“All that time?” Niall says. “Years, even?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, sinking in his seat a little more. “Years, even.”

What a waste.

“I’m not letting you drink, so you know,” Niall says then, turning to face the window.

“Wh - _what?_ ” Liam sputters. “But - Niall. Fuck, mate. Honestly.”

“No,” Niall says, and Liam doesn’t think Niall has ever turned down a chance at alcohol. “We’ll go to your flat. We’ll go to fucking London, or we can jump on a plane and go to America, for all I care. But you’re not gonna get black-out drunk and have me take care of you all day tomorrow. ‘M not doing it, and not lettin’ you do it to yourself, either.”

Liam frowns.

He looks up, facing the window. He wonders how this all happened. He wonders how he spent so much time wrapped up in someone that he was convinced would never love him back. He wonders how a proposal was made, a wedding was planned, shoes were picked out and dresses were altered, all for something that was meaningless in the end. He’s not sure how everything spiraled so out of control so suddenly, how needing Zayn’s smile to get through the day somehow became the reason why he beat himself up at night, how he soon became all self-loathing thoughts and clutching at sheets because he was so fucking tired but didn’t know how to sleep anymore.

He’s spent months, fucking years, trying to take a step back, take two steps back, walk a mile in the opposite direction of Zayn. It was too close and too much, and he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle loving someone and hugging them as if it didn’t matter. Couldn’t handle writing letters to himself at five in the morning to gather his thoughts, like his mother taught him to do. He’d purposefully meant to detach himself from him, always too close for comfort, always stepping around each other and then somehow still knocking shoulders, fingers brushing accidentally.

He’d wanted so much for so long, and convinced himself he couldn’t have any of it, ever.

He’d accepted his fate. Long before the rehearsal dinner, long before the months of preparation and hearing Louis recite his toast speech, long before the _proposal_ even.

And for all that to spin on him, to redefine what “possible” even meant to Liam. Well. He needed a fucking escape. He couldn’t be here, anywhere near here.

He was a little scared. More than a little scared.

Nothing scared him more than the reality that Zayn was - Zayn had considered. Zayn had wanted, even, and Zayn just - called it all off, because he.

Because he felt something resembling the same feelings Liam had so furiously pinned down, held back, laughed off and outright ignored. He felt something else, something they never named.

Liam was so fucking scared. His head was spinning.

He just needed. He needed quiet.

“America sounds nice,” Liam says softly, still staring out the window.

Niall flashes him a smile, already tapping on his phone. “I’ll book a flight.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It started raining after it all.

It was not a gentle rain, Zayn’s favourite kind, but a relentless kind. The rain poured and poured, flooding the streets in waves that swept across the pavement like a tiny ocean, churning and disconcertingly overwhelming. The thunder came with it, so loud it overtook Zayn’s thoughts, shook him from his tragedy and reminded him that breaking down isn’t really an option for him. It never has been, unfortunately, and especially not now, with a hysterical ex-fiancée standing in front of him, neatly manicured hands of her maid of honour holding her back as she’s hurling insults at him, reminding him how worthless he is, insisting he was nothing more than the scum of the earth, but somehow looking impossibly lost and broken even as she did it.

He did that to her.

“You fucking _wanker,_ you absolute _shithead_ , what in the absolute _fuck_ has gotten into you? Have you lost your mind? Are you fucking – “

“ _Please_ , please, calm down,” a voice says, and it’s her father. “Honey, please.”

“Is this a joke? Is this fucking happening to me? He’s ruined it – this piece of shite. This _arsehole_. Absolute fucking dickhead, I swear to fucking hell. And he’s just fucking standing there,” she barks, face hardening, and Zayn feels the smallest he’s ever felt. “He doesn’t even fucking care. He doesn’t care about anything, or anyone.”

“Hey, now, let’s not get – “

“I’m going to be sick,” Zayn declares, to no one in particular, and sways on his feet.

No one seems to hear him, or care, really, because they keep carrying on, arguing and she’s livid, absolutely livid, and rightfully so, because Zayn’s just ruined her life and he should’ve been thinking of blue eyes, all this time, and he’s going to be sick.

“And to think, after all these months, all these _years_ – “

“I’m going to be sick right now,” Zayn declares, hunching over. Doniya’s hand rests on his back, and she’s saying his name, and it becomes too much, and as soon as a plastic bin is settled in from of him, he empties his stomach into it.

“Fucking disgusting,” his ex-fiancée spits, voice like venom and ringing in his head for the next several hours.

The rain does not let up. It pours the entire day, and after it all there’s nothing left but an empty castle and thousands of pounds worth of flowers littering every square foot of the place. He’s never seen so many fucking flowers in his life, and the scent is giving him a fucking headache, everything too much and too loud and too obnoxiously overwhelming that he finds himself wandering out in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm.

It’s quite therapeutic, he thinks. His brain feels too heavy, maybe a little bit nicer underneath the rain, melting into his thoughts. He doesn’t really feel like a person anymore. He feels like melting into the streets with the rain water, churning like a tiny ocean, swimming between rolling thunder and striking bits of lightning. He lives in this little daydream, imagining what it must be like to be nearly nothing at all, something tiny and insignificant that didn’t bother anyone and no one bothered him back. He might like that kind of life, he thinks. A life of near nothingness.

He lost him.

His dress shirt is so heavy from the rain that it pulls uncomfortably at his body, weighing him down, and he’s trying to keep his breathing steady, his eyes shut tightly and his chest heaving. He’s not crying, he doesn’t think. It doesn’t feel like he’s crying. It feels like he’s trying to stop. He wants to stop.

He’s not sure what he wants.

“What are you doing?”

It’s Harry, and he’s kind of shouting at him.

“Trying not to exist anymore,” Zayn says back, biting down in his lip and keeping his eyes closed as he sways.

“Hey.” A hand circles his wrist. He turns, chest heaving like he’s been crying but also knowing that he’s too numb for that right now. He can hardly hear Harry over the rain, but it sounds like he says something like, “Don’t say that, Z. I’d miss you too much.”

Zayn winces at the nickname, and feels impossibly small all over again.

“No one should miss me,” he finds himself saying, and regrets it immediately.

“No, no, don’t say that, never say that,” and Harry’s hugging him and he’s been hugged so much today, but he still feels like a punch in the stomach might feel a little better than this undeserved affection. “I know everything’s gone to shit, but don’t say that. I love you. We all love you.”

Zayn doesn’t want to argue, doesn’t want to reinforce the idea that he should be unlovable, unforgivable. He’s fucking disgusting, she said, and he believes it. He does.

He falls onto the pavement, only because he loses track of the sky and the ground and sort of forgets how to breathe, forgets how to hold himself together when the thunder is pounding so insistently and one of his dearest friends loves him despite how much of a fuck up he is.

“Hey – “ and Harry’s by Zayn’s side, of course, the fucking idiot, crouching down on the ground. Harry’s hair is a mess, looking like a drowned rat or something, and Zayn probably looks ten times worse and he can’t stop the churning inside of his stomach. He can’t stop feeling fucking useless.

“Where did he go?” Zayn asks, and he hates that he’s thinking of him, and he’s spent years doing it, thinking of him and carelessly forgetting blue eyes, never thinking of what he should. Brown eyes, warm and considerate and kind, brighter when he laughs, darker when he’s angry, wide when he’s excited.

“Who?” Harry says back, hand coming at the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s been so good at keeping secrets, is the thing, so good that he’d convinced himself sometimes of his own false reality. Of course Harry has no clue to who he’s thinking of, why Zayn’s on the pavement during a fucking thunderstorm asking about some guy, some person, someone who isn’t her, because of course, in this moment, he’s still not thinking of her.

It takes too long to say it, for how it always hang on the edge of his tongue, for how it’s the name that rings through all his thoughts and somehow is the only name he can think that doesn’t make his fists curl in anger and screaming until his lungs give out.

It takes too long to say it, but he does, somehow.

“Liam.”

It’s who he’s been thinking of all this time, when he was agreeing to cake flavours and nodding his head along with the decisions she made for the colour scheme and how she might want to wear her hair and what way the napkins would be folded for the reception, as if that’s something anyone would ever be concerned with. He’d thought of Liam the entire fucking time.

“I don’t know,” Harry says after a long moment. “He and Niall left. I, um. We don’t know where they went.”

Zayn sits there for a moment, nodding his head before he finally decides to stand up. Harry helps him, hand at the small of his back and around his arm, and he’s nodding when Harry pulls their bodies together once more. He tries to find comfort in it, tries to silence his thoughts again. It never seems to work.

The rain lets up at some point, tiny oceans not so steadily churning anymore. The thunder is rolling in the distance, threatening another downpour somewhere else, maybe a few towns over.

It feels like he’s done something irreparable, and he’ll see this day from his past, years from now, a dark mark on the calendar noting the day that he hurt so many people in the blink of an eye, destroyed a relationship and a friendship and blindsided everyone.

It feels like he’s losing solid ground, and he never saw this coming, the days and weeks building up to this never showed the signs of breakdown. He was doing so well. He had wanted this, just enough, just enough that it was going to be nearly painless. A prick to the skin and nothing more. He had endured it for so long, had enough time for it to sink deep underneath his bones and become nothing more than a passing thought, distant and dream-like, like recalling a nightmare you used to have when you were a kid. It was supposed to be okay, it was supposed to be manageable, it was supposed to be good enough. He was supposed to be good enough. And then all of his suffocated emotions and memories and aching thoughts, ringing in his ears for the millionth time, were all pried so violently from his chest and it was like ripping the ground from his feet, sucking the oxygen from his lungs, and bashing him in the head a few times for good measure. It was exactly like that, and even still, somehow immeasurably worse.

It feels like he can do nothing but sit in this, this decision he made, the wreckage he’s caused. It’s like he can physically feel the guilt wearing at his body with each passing minute. He’s the worst person alive. He thought it was going to be enough and it wasn’t, and his mistakes caused a domino effect, each person he cared about collapsing behind him one by one.

And after it all, he’ll be left with nothing but the burden of his own selfishness and carelessness, his bones weakened because he couldn’t carry the weight of a secret after so long, couldn’t carry the crippling weight of loving someone who would never love him.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Liam has never felt so out of sorts in his entire life. He collapses onto the hotel bed with a sigh that he’d been holding for the better part of a nine-hour flight. All his thoughts are disconnected and short-circuited, his words are nonsensical, and he can’t force a single sentence past the tightness in his throat. He can hardly manage a nod any time Niall asks him a question, can’t even hold eye contact in fear that any grip he has on his remaining composure will slip away from him.

It all feels like the weirdest dream in the world, what’s happening, with the wedding and the impulsive plane ride across the world and the words Zayn had said to him, so certain and terrified sounding and it was –

“You good?” Niall asks, settling on to his own bed.

He swallows, closing his eyes. He’s thousands of miles away from home and he’s got nearly nothing with him but his own thoughts and the best company he could really hope for. He owes Niall the world, he thinks.

He sighs once more, before a belated, “Yeah, mate. I’m…okay.”

It’s the first complete sentence he’s said for hours, and he feels strange talking, feels strange existing right now. It all feels like the weirdest, most improbable dream in the world. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“What happened?” Niall asks gently, now that they’re in the privacy of a hotel room. Liam knows Niall cares so much about all of them, so much that he’d jump on a plane with you if you asked him to, he’d navigate through a sea of people just to get you a breath of fresh air, keep you sober to make sure you weren’t drowning your problems in alcohol. “Just tryin’ to make sense of it all, like.”

He owes Niall his fucking life, he thinks.

“I know, it’s…” Liam says and closes his eyes. “Kind of settling in, um. It’s. I’m just trying to…I don’t know.”

Niall clears his throat. “Did you tell him you loved him, then? Is that, like - ?”

“No,” Liam says quietly, softly shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Niall says thoughtfully. A moment later, Liam hears him typing on his phone. “Jesus Christ. I’ve got about a thousand text messages.”

“Fuck,” Liam groans, not even wanting to look at his phone. “When did everything get so fucked up?”

It’s a proper headache, is what it is. Niall types on his phone for a few long minutes, probably ensuring everyone that they’re both safe and sound.

And all Liam is thinking, when did Zayn know? When did this happen? Certainly it – certainly not just then. What was he thinking, during it all, everything happening around him, planning a life with someone else? Someone who he – loves? Did he love her? Was he – did he always?

Why did it all come to surface then? What _happened_?

 _"I'm sorry,”_ Zayn had said, and Liam heard the crack in his voice, how strangled he had sounded. _"I tried not to – yeah?"_

It’s so painfully familiar, Liam thinks.

Liam has never really understood how to be properly be in love, really, and had always been a little distantly confused why he would fixate on the most improbable person. Liam cares for Zayn with everything in him, lovesick pining or not, and he realises now: of course. Of course it’s the one person that laughed so genuinely at his jokes even though they were rubbish, and gave him solid ground to hold onto when he felt so small and suffered through insecurities and fears and desires, and was always so ready with a pin and needle to stitch him back together every time he felt apart, nearly coming apart at the seams he was so positively broken. Of course, Liam thinks.

And it was improbable, to him, back then. It had hardly ever occurred to Liam that Zayn would ever want him back, a ridiculous notion he never even let his own daydreams trick themselves into crafting. He never allowed it more than a casual thought. Never happening, alright, got it, next objective. He couldn’t dwell. He just had to learn to manage the suffering that comes with desire.

It was a weird kind of limbo he’d fallen into over the years, wandering in between a life where he bit down on his knuckles and choked out a laugh to ignore the hollowness in his chest, and one where he fumbled around kind of helplessly, forgetting what it’s like to close his eyes and not think about hazel irises and ink-stained fingertips. Liam’s never really known what he’s doing. He’s spent years ignoring it, and he’s spent years trying to understand it, and now that he’s learned what he’s learned, the pieces still aren’t falling together quite right.

When did he know?

For Liam, he thinks it started when he was nineteen. Actually, maybe before, but Liam certainly lived in denial up until nineteen, so he’ll go with that. Nineteen years old, newly single, and a little bit drunk, Liam had found himself wandering into his best friend’s hotel room at three in the morning. Louis had given him the room key, since he was supposed to share with Zayn, but had wanted the single instead.

Liam still isn’t sure how it happened. He had been thinking about how many people there are in his life and all the places he’d seen, and how he wanted to see more places and be with more people – but not really more people, just this one person, and he had just been drunk, alright.

That’s an overused excuse. People say they’re drunk to get out of so many things. People act like they’re idiots when they’re drunk and call people who don't care and dance on tables or something. It doesn’t really mean anything, Liam thinks, to use that kind of excuse as any kind of justification or explanation.

He had been just barely intoxicated, so it isn’t an excuse, but he had been intoxicated enough that strange thoughts like this came and rattled with his brain for a few hours, and Liam had just wanted to tell Zayn everything. Wanting to tell Zayn everything had become a bit of a problem.

Like a lot of things, it gets worse with time.

He had been kind of rambling, saying this out loud, saying some of this and more, in different words and long pauses. Sometimes he giggled. Sometimes he sniffled and felt impossibly small.

“Liam, go to bed, mate,” a very sleepy Zayn had told him after five or so minutes of letting Liam talk about nothing. He had yawned immediately before and after his sentence, crawling into his bed. Liam sat on the edge of his own bed and didn’t want to sleep at all.

He’d been thinking about the people in his life and how he’d gotten dumped, kind of, even though he agreed to it. He’d been thinking that he didn’t actually care about getting dumped. He cared about pretty much everything more than that.

“Love you, Zaynie,” Liam had said, and he’d sounded drunker than he was, and he’d watched Zayn smile into his pillow, like he’d known Liam had been drinking and was just saying things.

“Shut up,” Zayn told him.

“Don’t you love me back?” Liam had asked, a quiet fear in his voice. He wants all the people he loves to love him back. It’s logical, really, but it’s also a little pathetic, how he’s that way. He can’t feel like he’s pouring himself into a person, whether it be a friend or his mum or a girlfriend or one of the boys, if they aren’t pouring out at least half as much back into him. Maybe that’s a weird thing to think. Maybe he’s just selfish like that.

“’Course I do. Now, bed,” Zayn had said into his pillow, and turned his head to face the wall.

Liam swallowed.

“I think you’re kind of the best friend I’ve ever had. It hurts my head, how much I love you. I mean.”

Liam was just saying things, at this point.

“Shh,” Zayn had said, and clutched his pillow a little closer to his head. He’d frowned then, the tiniest bit. Liam had watched him do it. He watches Zayn do things sometimes and it used to make him wonder, if he…

“I’m sorry,” Liam had said, soft as anything. It felt like Zayn was slipping away into dreamland already, but he continued, “I’m so sorry. Goodnight, Zayn. Goodnight.”

He’d laid in his bed for four hours thinking if the colossal expanding in his chest meant anything at all, if he should call a doctor, or if he’d just been feeling emotions a thousand times too big for his body.

And that was the beginning, Liam thinks, when he put the pieces together and consequently started losing track of what made him smile other than Zayn. There are more nights like that, and nights where he turns up the static of the television so he can think about nothing for a few hours, a prisoner to his own mind.

Liam never considered, never felt it was an option to consider, but he would hope, sometimes. Maybe.

There was a period of time where Liam had convinced himself that a best friend was all he needed in Zayn, and he’d just got too caught up in it all, so shutting down his feelings became reality.

He started dating other people, new girls with sweet names and bright eyes, and it was almost enough. But he couldn’t lie, not really, so she’d questioned him, accusations turning into full-on blowouts, all cursing and accusing and biting words, words that tore him down, words that were outwardly forgiven soon enough but Liam couldn’t help but hold them underneath his ribcage, stabbing at his lungs every time he asked for a breath.

And they left the ugliest scars.

When did Zayn know?

Liam feels like everything is so heavy, nowadays. And it’s impossible for him to ignore anymore.

“We’ve been so stupid, Niall,” Liam says when Niall appears out of the bathroom, freshly showered. Liam’s trying to hold it together for a moment. Hold it together. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing has been explained. Just _hold it together_.

“Who? Us?” Niall asks, tilting his head.

Liam fixates on the ceiling, crossing his arms on his stomach. He sighs. Hold it together. “No – it’s me and Zayn, like. We’ve been so, _so_ stupid.”

“What?” Niall blinks again, and shakes his head in confusion. He stares at Liam until realization suddenly dawns on his features. “Whoa, _wait_ , you mean - ?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, sucking in a breath. It’s so much. It’s all so fucking heavy. Niall’s just staring at him like he’s not sure what to do. “Yeah, I know.”

“You fuckers,” Niall curses, and he actually looks genuinely upset, a terrible frown tugging at his features. “You fucking – you _fuckers_.”

“I’m scared out of my mind,” Liam admits, and he really doesn’t want to cry, but everything’s so fucking huge and impossible and wide-open now, all the wounds visible and it’s all so vulnerable. They’re so vulnerable. It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any _sense_. “I never – it never occurred to me, like.”

Niall’s still sputtering, trying to catch up. “So that’s why he – oh, god,” he says, and he’s realizing it now, and Liam will tell the full story later, from beginning right up to here, standing in this hotel room, scared fucking shitless without a clue of what happened, what to do, what he’s missed.

It’s a story he’s been carrying with him for quite a while, he thinks, remembering the night in the hotel room with Zayn. He’s carried it with him all this time.

It was just never worth telling until now.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Zayn knows very well how to be alone.

He craves time to himself, more so than the other boys, more so than most of his friends. Before, when he was young and had a wild family around him all hours of the day, time alone was a luxury that he often desired, even as dearly as he’d loved all his sisters and cousins and aunts.

When Zayn suddenly became a name on the lips of strangers and started singing songs in recording studios and signing record deals, time alone was nearly impossible, a rarity only experienced in fleeting moments as he huddled into his bunk on the tour bus with his headphones in his ears and images floating in his brain that his fingers itched to bring into creation, while the others carried on loudly, playing fifa and arguing over crisps.

Even now, as his life is no longer planned minute to minute, he still spaces himself from his loved ones from time to time, craving a few hours to let himself breathe. It isn’t personal between them, it’s simply a part of him they’ve all grown to understand and accept over the years.

Partying and socializing is manageable, and often enjoyable, but not quite natural, not nearly as effortless for him as it seems to be for some. He finds effortlessness in his private hobbies, letting his bones relax as he’s left with nothing but his thoughts. Some time alone is rejuvenating, refreshing, like a full night of sleep.

Zayn has never been alone quite like this before.

It feels a little like he’s getting pummeled into the ground by a train with each passing day spent ignoring text messages and phone calls and the beatings on his door. Right now, Zayn is not alone because he needs time to himself, needs a recharge, needs to gather his thoughts. He’s alone because he doesn’t know how not to be, doesn’t know how to function in a world that he’s so painfully out of sync with, doesn’t know how to be around anyone at all anymore after he’s so spectacularly fucked everything up, hurt countless people, and just generally been a piece of shit.

He’s spent the two and a half weeks since the wedding trying to work out a logical way to deal with everything, with everyone, with the press, even, and he’s mostly concluded to a few of things: he’s fucking worthless, and a complete idiot, and deserves no forgiveness.

He misses his mum and he feels like he failed her, of all she ever wanted in a son, and the kind of man she raised him to be. She did not raise him to be thoughtless or uncaring or selfish, didn’t raise him to be deceitful, didn’t teach him that he needs to ruin other people’s lives at the sake of his own sanity. He hasn’t been able to get her teary eyes out of his mind, the way she held him that night, asking what was wrong, why did he do it, was it something she said?

It was and it wasn’t, he’s realised, but he would never dare make her feel at blame for any of his mistakes.

He’s failed just about everyone he’s ever interacted with, he thinks. The boys and his friends and family and her family and her - he fucking failed _her_ , and he tried so damn hard for her, for the both of them. He spent months right along with her, smiles coming easy most days, because she was so happy and having so much fun and being so perfect to him, so forgiving when he zoned out, got distracted, forgot to call the wedding planner for the twentieth time. There’s no way anyone could’ve known, he became such a good actor, but he _tried_ to make it real, tried to lose himself in the surrealism of it all and cut off any feelings of him - and he failed anyway.

And removing himself from the situation just didn't work.

Because he tried to turn these feelings off. It was years of this; bargaining with himself and knowing how long this could continue on if he let it, knowing how much more this could ruin him if he let it. He tried to end it all and leaving the band - leaving the boys wasn't the answer because he's still here, he's still doing this and Liam's miles away and Liam's been miles away for some time now.

He’s not sure how he let this happen. How he let something so distant from him become so vital. He’s not sure how he used to believe himself to be a sound-minded, logical person when he’s literally fucked over everyone in his life for the sake of his bullshit emotions, emotions that in fact had no purpose or reasoning at all. It simply didn’t make sense, for him to act like this, to lie to himself and everyone around him.

He wanted to love her. He really did.

But for all he knows about love, he wants no part of it.

Love has done nothing but ruin him, cause him to lose his grip on reality and lie and lie and lie, and cry in his mother’s arms, and leave a sad girl in her wedding dress with mascara running down her cheeks. Love has bred a self-hatred in him he hadn’t known possible, caused him to live his life on the sidelines and indulge in a dark, twisted fantasy resembling some kind of alternate life where’s he’s allowed to have the things reality has denied him again and again.

He wants no part of love at all because it has failed him. Love has built a brick wall around his exterior and let it crumble down, love tied knots around his fingers so he wouldn’t forget the slow burn of his eyes, of the taste of liquor, of the callouses on his fingertips as they curled around his wrist. Love counted down days and made him feel like giving in to the familiar warmth of his arms at three in the morning was okay, for now, just for the night.

Love made him think that he was immune to its side effects. Made him ignore the thunderstorms, made him find himself walking outside in them and letting them melt around his thoughts for a while, made him cry and feel his shudders shake through his body like thunder, gasping for air. Love was fleeting and felt like forever, felt like someone was hollowing out his insides, made him think that he could live in this box of self-doubt if he really wanted to. And he did.

The worst of it, Zayn thinks, is that it was someone who actually genuinely cared about him, wanted the best for him, relied on Zayn and let Zayn rely on him. It’s like, the worst thing in the world, he thinks, when Liam wiped his tears and showed him his favourite songs and actually wanted to hear about his day, wanted to know how his family is doing, walked around in a foreign city with him and just get lost for a little while.

It’s unbelievable actually, how selfish he is to ruin something as wonderful as the friendship Liam built with him over the years. He was so attentive, so concerned, so fucking heartwarmingly generous and _perfect_ that Zayn should feel ashamed at how he so selfishly drank in all the endless compliments and pep-talks and midnight heart-to-hearts and reassurances, _you’ll make a great husband, I know it_ , and _I’m here for you, you know that_ and _you’re my best mate, yeah?_

Zayn’s fucking nauseous.

He promptly throws up in the rubbish bin near his side, the twentieth order of take out in a row not settling with his stomach quite right. When he finishes, he bangs his head against the wall, further encouraging the piercing in his skull.

Solitude is driving him insane, but at the very least, he’s not dealing with people. And that’s the absolute, very last thing he wants to do.

He’s trying to figure out a way to avoid humankind for – well, forever, ideally, but he’s not entirely sure he’ll get that lucky. He doesn’t know how to do this.

He needs to get a fucking grip, actually. But with an empty house, a silenced phone, and a nice security system that will prevent anyone from bothering him, he thinks he’ll avoid that necessity for the time being.

Zayn hasn’t shaved, and he’s hardly bathed, and he feels like living garbage. He sighs, his mouth tasting like bitter alcohol, and he’s spent the entirety of today unraveling memories from his mind like old film, watching them burn scars on his fingertips as he ghosts over them carefully.

And to think it all started with a boy with a sweet face and soft brown eyes inquiring about where he was from, what kind of music he liked to sing. Started with a silly, overly ambitious teenager with wild dreams, going from watching him straighten his hair in the mirror, to asking Zayn his favourite song by Usher, to humming ‘Climax’ under his breath as he laced his sneakers. From sitting in a room with three other young, silly boys and curling up against his side in the dark, to sitting next to him at award show after award show, squeezing his thigh when they’d won, and won again, and _again_.

To think it started so long ago, before a crying girl in a dress or a proposal or a fucking tattoo, before he made any promises or told any lies or forced any smiles. To think it started before any of it, that he chose this all for himself, is the most absurd realization of them all.

His phone buzzes, and he’s not sure why he even bothers charging it at this point, since it gets no use. He still glances over to see who’s decided to bother with him, sent him a message of concern or confusion or demanding some sort of an explanation, perhaps a combination of pleas and anger, perhaps a string of question marks, or, more than likely, a bitter voicemail.

He lifts his phone from its spot on the floor with a sigh.

_Let us know youre alive_

It’s a text that Louis sends him every few days. Zayn sighs again, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling like his eyelids are burning. It’s probably the only text he ever responds to, the guilt weighing on him since he knows how everyone must worry about him despite the fact that he probably shouldn’t be a thought on anyone’s mind at all. He types out a brief ‘ _yep_ ’ before locking his phone and knocking his skull against the wall a few more times.

He’s not sure how to live like this, but he supposes his only option is to try.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Unfortunately, for Liam, things don’t get much easier.

It’s like, before, Liam’s life was akin to a train coasting at a hundred miles an hour down the tracks, and then suddenly, without warning, it came to a screeching halt, landing inconveniently across a highway. That’s how it feels inside his head, at least. His thoughts and plans and ideas were all derailed, and he feels like he’s just waiting in this place between what he’s convinced himself is the truth and this new thing, this huge, impossible reality that he can hardly wrap his head around.

Everything kind of stops. He can’t remember any of his meetings, any of his plans, can’t focus on much of anything except his thoughts of Zayn.

 _Pleaseeeee call me,_ Liam sends for the millionth time and triple checks his phone isn’t on silent.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He wonders if Zayn thinks he made a mistake.

His tea is finishing up, so he gets up from his spot on the sofa and tends to it. His head is ringing, and he’s never been very good at not doing anything, always this constant motivation to go, do, explore, _move_. This place he’s at right now is a little mind-numbing, all the nothing on his agenda, all the cancelled meetings and appointments.

He brings the hot tea to his lips, sighing as it runs down his throat.

Louis informed Liam earlier that Zayn is, in fact, ignoring everyone. In the past, during their time off from touring, it had been a running joke that Zayn was absolutely unreachable. He’d normally claimed to have lost his phone or just simply forgotten to call or text back, and it was usually understandable.

It’s not quite like that this time around, though, and it hasn’t been like that for a while. And Liam can’t help but feel entirely responsible. He’s such a _coward_.

He feels useless, really, and maybe that’s because of all of the unanswered texts and the cancelled meetings and general unproductivity surrounding him, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s knowing that there’s so much he could be doing right now to make this better and he can’t figure out what to do, exactly. Maybe it’s knowing that Zayn is however many miles away from him and they’re not speaking, Zayn’s not speaking to _anyone_ , because Liam responds to everything in the absolute worst way sometimes.

Guilt is not a good emotion for Liam, as he’s learned over the years. It mostly ends up eating him alive.

Liam has had a girlfriend or two complain about how he deals with his emotions. Normally, he follows a pattern bottling them up, deflecting attention from them, and finally exploding. He’s not sure how everything with Zayn happened like this, all spread out and finally coming to the tipping point right at the very end. There were moments where he’d lose it, just barely, but in the grand scheme of things, it’d only show as a tiny crack in the surface. Liam didn’t break. Not until things were blown open like they were on Zayn’s wedding day, at least.

The thing with Zayn is that he generally becomes quiet when he’s upset. He has his moments of moodiness, maybe avoid everyone for a little while, but then he’ll bounce back within a day, and years ago Liam would’ve been able to giggle into his shoulder and play with his fingers just like always. Zayn is never one to talk much when things bother him, and when he recovers, he never wants to dwell on what happened. He shrugs it off and convinces everyone that he’s alright, it’s all over, no point in crying over spilt milk.

Liam knows Zayn well enough to understand that Zayn locking himself up in his house and shutting so many of the people he loves out for this long is a strange and unfamiliar response, something no one knows how to deal with. Liam finds himself wondering if this is what happens when Zayn Malik gets truly and entirely heartbroken.

And he could’ve prevented this. Liam knows he could’ve – he could’ve said something, could’ve _stayed_.

But he was so, so scared. Fleeing the country on a whim while having a panic attack is not his proudest moment.

He glances down at his phone when it goes off, his heart catching in his throat a bit, only to see his mum had texted him asking if he wanted to visit for dinner soon. He needs to do that, he thinks. He needs his family.

After replying promptly to his mother, he clicks Zayn’s message thread and starts typing again.

_Im so sorry I shouldnt have left that day Zayn nd I have a lot to explain to you ok.. Just please call me back soon alright??_

He sends it, and waits for an answer that never comes.

New York City had been a nice distraction for a while. Liam had been irritated at how alarmingly sober he was for most of the trip, therefore not really able to deal with his emotions relating to Zayn in the way he’s always coped with them. He had to stare his feelings in the face for a few days. Talk, instead of deflecting attention, instead of letting it wreck his insides. Work things through. It was alright, surprisingly, as Niall is a great listener and really cares about the two of them, probably a stupid amount.

Another thing was that Liam has hardly been to America outside of touring and promotion and the like, and he’d been looking forward to maybe exploring parks of New York in a way that was never allowed during a few hours before sound check or between interviews or whatever else. It was a nice trip, altogether, and the two of them did spend their last night in a random bar downtown. Niall allowed Liam to enjoy a couple of beers to make up for all the exhaustive emotional self-searching that took place in quirky pizza parlors and coffee shops and once, during a late-night walk through Central Park. They stumbled upon the bar one evening and ended up watching some American football with a couple dozen enthusiastic New Yorkers, cheering for whatever team the guys to their left were cheering for, and buying a round for the whole bar when said team won.

The discussions and events and distance put a lot of things into perspective for Liam. It helped him back on his feet, got his head centered, and ultimately put everything out in the open for Niall to understand. And surprisingly, Niall did understand Liam’s fear quite well, even if all Liam felt was cowardly and foolish for running out like he did. Niall explained that Zayn had quite a bit to handle on his own anyway, and it was probably a good thing to give Zayn time to sort out the mess that’d been made. Then, Niall had said, maybe they can work out what’s going on.

So, Liam doesn’t call him immediately after getting back. He actually gives it another week, after the five days Niall and Liam had already spent in America, until he texts Zayn. When Zayn, of course, doesn’t respond, Liam texts Louis, because surely Louis must know what’s going on. Louis always knows what’s going on. But Liam learns that Louis hasn’t heard from Zayn outside of him letting Louis know he’s safe and sound.

Liam ends up sending more texts, that all kind of say the same thing, _please talk to me Zayn please? I know things seem messd up but pleasssse :(,_ which leads to now, with Liam frowning into his cup of tea and staring at his phone screen, feeling the clock next to the refrigerator ticking away the seconds like a chastising reminder: _Look at the time you’re wasting. Look at the time you’ve wasted._

He’s so scared.

For some reason, then, he presses call and listens to the phone ring several achingly long times.

“Fuck,” he curses as the automated voice instructs him to leave a message after the beep. He stares at the wall, chest heaving up and down.

Beep.

“Zayn,” Liam breathes, the name falling from his lips like some kind of anchor, like something he’s held in this throat for ages. “I need to talk to you. I’ve texted a million times, you know, but – just. Call me back, okay? Please? Whenever you can. It’s really important. I know things are messed up right now, I know you’re hurting and – maybe some of that’s my fault,” he says, trying to push these words out of his lungs and into the phone because they’re burning Liam’s insides, they’re biting at his spine, they’re killing him with their weight. He’s been holding them for so long. “I know you have your regrets, and maybe you want to change what happened. Whatever it is, you deserve happiness, Zayn. You deserve more than what you’re giving yourself now. You’ve got to know that.”

Liam pauses, feeling his eyes water. He sighs a bit. “Please call me, babe. I have a lot to say and I just want to try to help fix this, alright?”

He pulls the phone from his face and hits ‘end,’ a terrible thickness in his throat and aching behind his eyes.

And the tragic thing is, Liam doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his entire life than Zayn’s happiness. For the longest time, Zayn being happy came first and foremost to Liam, even when he thought that meant proposing to this girl, when it meant a wedding in a castle and honeymoon in Bora Bora and a new house in London. And this wedding had been arranged and talked about for months, _years_ , and Liam, even as lovesick and hopeless as he was, couldn’t find it in him to be angry, or jealous, or bitter. Because all of these things meant to Liam that Zayn was happy. Even if it was without Liam. Even if Zayn’s future plans had nothing to do with Liam and the other boys.

And even though Liam knows better now, knows that these things maybe weren’t making Zayn happy as they’d all thought, knows that the wedding was cancelled for a reason – even if that reason likely has to do with him – he still wants the same thing. He wants Zayn happy, with or without him, whatever that means and whatever the cost.

He’s got to try to fix this, and he feels the unshakeable weight on his shoulders to figure this out, to reach out to Zayn and explain it to him and then maybe, maybe things can be better. Maybe something will work out and Zayn can – maybe, if Liam is so very, very lucky – be happy with Liam.

It still feels like a long shot, somehow, but Liam feels something beautiful blossoming beneath his chest at the idea.

In the meantime, Liam tries to perfect the act of patience, and watches the clock tick forward, marking yet another hour past.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Zayn used to dream much more often, when he was quite a bit younger. His dreams used to be vivid and vibrant and beautiful, a reflection of his childhood, his soul painted with happiness in shades of blooming flowers or ocean water or berries.

With age, Zayn became less familiar with his dreaming state, most often forgotten within seconds of being awake. When he hears the other boys ramble on about nightmares and memories from home and strange, impossible things happening in their dreams, he can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse.

When Zayn does remember his dreams, every once in a while, they are not quite as colourful. He hasn’t dreamt like that in ages; years, maybe. Sometimes, in those rare moments, his dreams are deep and dull greys, quiet shades of inbetweenness. Sometimes they are overwhelming, fleeting blankets of black and small peaks of white surrounding a disconnected storyline, a vision; there’s a pair of eyes, a pair of hands, memories intertwined with fantasy, twisting within a delicate mosaic of his colourless, subconscious inner world. He doesn’t know why he dreams like this, why these are the only ones he remembers, the colourless ones. It scares him a little.

He wakes from these dreams and paints, usually, an itching to counteract his subconscious minds’ creations with the ones he can bring into the physical world with his own hands. He spends hours caking paint onto the wall, mostly nonsense, maybe silly doodles that make him laugh, maybe more abstract works where he’ll poke out his tongue in concentration and furrow his brow for a few hours. He throws yellow onto a white wall, sprays stripes of crimson and orange, dances a whimsical green underneath his feet. It’s a nice bit of self-therapy. He tries his hardest to forget these black-and-white dreams, but they’re always the most daunting things. The painting helps, though.

Zayn wakes one night with his heart pounding in his ears, mind fogging with the memories of a colourless nightmare. He feels like he’s dying. It’s the most inexplicable thing, why he feels this way. He feels like everything he’s ever felt is rushing to the top of his brain, concentrating underneath his skull, pressing and pressing and growing a deep migraine insistently.

He’s not crying, not quite, but he feels the air whoosh in and out of his lungs and he’s alone, he realises, no one at arm’s reach or across the hall or in the house or anywhere. There’s nobody. Zayn is quite plainly and startlingly alone.

He’s not used to reaching out like this when this happens, when the weights start pulling at his limbs, when everything is so heavy and dark and entire that Zayn can hardly open his eyes. It’s the worst kind of pain, the inexplicable kind, when they ask where it hurts and you can’t even open your mouth because _everything, everywhere, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anymore._

He’s not used to this but he’s trying to deal with things more, nowadays. He should take care of himself, when he’s like this. Sometimes taking care of himself means calling his mother.

“Zayn? Are you alright?”

He bites down on his lip, trying his damndest not to cry.

“Mum,” he says, his voice cracking.

This feels like open-heart surgery, he thinks. This feels like the anesthetic wearing off in the middle of a delicate, time-consuming procedure and seeing your own chest split wide open and not being able to do anything about it.

“Honey, are you alright?” she says. She hasn’t heard from him in days but that’s all she wants to know, of course, that’s all she’s insisting.

“Yeah,” he says, to calm her. He’s biting on his knuckles. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look into the mindless darkness of his room. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Sorry. I’m – I’m sorry.”

His breaths are hiccupping and he knows he doesn’t sound alright, he doesn’t sound fine, but he’s got to say it, so she knows.

“Shh,” she says, soothingly, and it’s silly how calming that is, that nonsense noise filtering into his ear. He can imagine her warmth, her smile. He knows she’d be hugging him, right now. “Shh, shh, it’s alright.”

He’s not crying but he is shaking way too much, and he wants to explain, because he’s calling her at some ungodly hour and she hasn’t heard from him, and she must be worried sick. Zayn is alone and shaking and missing everything, missing everyone. That’s all. That’s it, really.

He’s thinking of him.

He’s thinking of Liam.

That headache is steadily building underneath his skull, pressing, and this feels like waking up and not knowing your limbs from your head, your hands from your heart. This feels like waking up and thinking you’re dying for no reason at all.

“It was Liam,” he says suddenly, because he’s thinking it and he was dreaming it and it’s the reason for this whole goddamn mess. “Yeah? It – it was him. I. I didn’t.”

It’s quiet for a long minute and Zayn worries that she might’ve hung up. He holds his breath.

“Oh, Zayn,” she says. It’s the saddest thing he’s ever heard.

“All this time,” he tells her, grabbing at his hair. He can’t put a name to this feeling. “It was Liam.”

She sighs a bit at this, like she hadn’t exactly been expecting it, but isn’t surprised. “Oh, Zayn,” she says again, in a way that makes him feel that much smaller.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he begs suddenly, nonsensically, because he’s so scared lately of everything getting blown open wider for everyone to see. “Please, please. It’s bad enough, yeah? He doesn’t. He doesn’t want me.”

She makes a sound of disapproval.

“You know I wouldn’t,” she tells him. “It’ll be alright, love. I promise you.”

He tries to steady his breathing over the next half-hour, his mother singing to him over the phone. He tries to hum along, but his voice falters, weakened by his shallow breaths. He hasn’t sung in the longest time.

He falls asleep to her gentle croon, his steady-breathing restored and warmth settling in his limbs as he realises that for all he is and all he’s done, he is still loved, he is loved, he is so truly and intensely loved.

He wakes easily the next day, no headache or grogginess greeting him. He can’t remember waking up like this. It feels like what people call a fresh start. It feels something like breathing easy and comfort and control. It doesn’t feel like he’s okay yet, but it feels like he might be on his way. It feels like newness. He’s not sure where these feelings came from, but now that they’re here, he’s not willing to let them go.

He wants to be okay. He can do it, he thinks. He doesn’t want to live his life on the sidelines. He wants to live his life with his loved ones. He wants to live his life smiling, and being alone because he can be, not because he has to be, and learning that breathing sometimes takes effort. He wants to know completeness.

He’s not there, not quite yet. But somehow, he knows he can be.

He calls his mum again that day and lets himself fall into the sound of her voice, lets himself know that he can find love in the people that have been around since day one, lets himself find comfort in promises of samosas and his sisters and _home_.

And Zayn is not okay yet, and there’s a whole lot he needs to fix with a whole lot of people, but first, he’s got to start with himself.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Liam’s trying to sleep at night but it’s a little disrupted lately between all the worrying and thinking and re-thinking and overthinking he’s done. Anytime he’s reminded of something – _hey, Zayn lent me this sweater, and I never gave it back or remember when Zayn and I spent the entire day together that time in Germany_ – it turns into a full-on analysis and rehashing of different events, trying to figure out what he missed, what went wrong, what Liam was too fucking blind to see.

It’s safe to say the time off has not quite been the rest and relaxation he’d been looking forward to getting.

He turns over in his bed, a steady headache pressing behind his eyes, and wills himself not to look at his phone to check the hour. _Go to sleep, Liam Payne,_ the world around him seems to say, _go to sleep._

He forces his eyes closed, steadying his breathing to try to relax, center his thoughts.

Naturally, he thinks about Zayn.

It’s becoming impossible not to nowadays, with everything that’s happened and all of the dark, hidden, impossibly huge feelings that Liam has felt over the years being picked apart and discussed exhaustively with Niall.

He understands a lot more now, but that doesn’t mean it’s settled in. That doesn’t mean it’s still not keeping him up at night.

He remembers things at the worst times – his gentle smile and contagious giggling and the press of his lips, sweet and soft and sure.

It wasn’t a thing Liam was particularly spoiled with before. Actually, Liam has kissed Zayn exactly twice, and he remembers both in overwhelming detail, even if he probably shouldn’t.

The first time had been before Liam understood the significance of the fluttering in his stomach and aching fingertips, always reaching out to touch him, reaching out for reasons he couldn’t make sense of. Liam’s hair had been wild and curly then, his shoulders not quite as broad yet, and Zayn’s cheeks were rounder, hair flat against his forehead. Their eyes had been bright as they wrestled on the ground after a day of photoshoots and interviews, high on this new and exciting life where this was the kind of thing they did for money, while their friends back home rung up groceries or assembled burgers in a kitchen line or babysat. The day had been exhausting nonetheless, but Liam had found it hard to complain when he had his best friend in the world laughing over him, trying to pin his arms down, trying to accomplish what exactly, Liam didn’t know, but they’d had a damned good time doing it.

Somehow, in the mess of it all, Zayn had ended up straddling Liam’s hips, his knees on the carpet, and Liam’s hands had been around Zayn’s wrists as they struggled around him. They laughed the entire time, Zayn’s eyes going all squinted and creased from the continuous giggling. Liam had tried to tickle Zayn, sort of, reaching towards his sides spontaneously. Then Zayn had fallen forward, arm catching beside Liam’s head, both of their foreheads knocking together just slightly. The breath had whooshed out of Liam’s lungs, and he suddenly became aware of their position, and _oh_ , Liam had thought. Before he’d realised it, his chin had tilted upwards the slightest bit. Their giggles had stopped, and all Liam could hear was Zayn’s breathing. He couldn’t move. He’d felt himself going a little cross-eyed, eyes trying to continually focus on Zayn above him.

“C’mon then,” Zayn had said, so soft, and Liam didn’t know what that meant. He tried to uncross his eyes and his heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t explain why.

“C’mon,” Zayn had said again, and Liam hadn’t been thinking, and he couldn’t explain what was happening in that moment. Zayn was just _so close._

Liam was trying to make sense of things, trying to think, blinking confusedly. And he couldn’t understand, didn’t have the time to process it all, because it was hardly a moment before Zayn’s lips had been pressed against his. It shocked Liam at first, completely frozen in place with Zayn’s lips on top of his. He couldn’t think.

When his mind had caught up with the moment, realizing that Zayn was _kissing him_ , he started to move, started to kiss back, just the tiniest bit. Then it was all over. Zayn’s eyes were wide as he stared at Liam, and when Liam thinks of it now, he might’ve looked scared. Liam didn’t even have time to say anything because Zayn’s hands had found themselves to Liam’s sides and he’d started tickling him, and Liam had been suddenly stricken with hysterical, uncontrollable laughter accompanying Zayn’s own of triumphant joy. Zayn had fallen back off of Liam, scrambling to disentangle their limbs, and stood up to rush towards the doorway.

“I win!” Zayn had cheered before he had turned from Liam and ran out of the room.

“I’ll get you back for that, Malik!” Liam had shouted, chasing the sound of Zayn’s contagious laughter down the hall.

He hadn’t thought of it much past that point, somehow cataloging it into all the other things he’d shared with Zayn over the years that he hadn’t shared with the others. It had never been a purposeful disconnecting from the other boys, but simply something that happened in a way they didn’t really know how to control.

They’d been the two closest from the beginning, even with Louis and Harry’s constant affection, even with Zayn and Louis sneaking off after shows together, even with him and Niall hanging out as often as they did. Liam and Zayn shared a mutual understanding, exchanged through a glance or a knowing touch, a familiar smile. There hadn’t been a name to it, before, for all those years, and Liam had figured a silly kiss in the middle of a bit of playing around hadn’t really been much to think about. They’ve probably done weirder things, actually. And Liam had been all too familiar with the lovebites he received from Louis, had been all too comfortable with a naked Harry walking into the room, didn’t even bat an eyelash with Niall announced he was going for a wank after a show. Weirder things had happened to Liam. Much weirder.

So Liam didn’t think about it for years, nearly, not until he’d realised what was happening, not until he’d put a name to his feelings, and suddenly it became something he thought about too much. Zayn had kissed him as a joke, or something, and it wasn’t something Liam should think about at all really, but when he happened to be in the room when Zayn pressed lips with his fiancée, he’d found himself thinking _I know what that’s like_ , and things were weird for Liam, okay, with all these thoughts rattling in his head all the time, and things were only getting weirder.

The second time it happened, Liam had probably been thinking about kissing Zayn on a more regular basis. I know what that’s like, he’d tell himself, _and I don’t know why I want more._

The second time it happened, they had been quick to blame it on the alcohol the next morning. It’d been laughed off much too quickly, honestly, and maybe they had been awfully drunk, but Liam remembers the kiss clearly. He remembers dark eyes and red lips and the darkness that crowded them so close together, calloused hands and his stupid giggle and fondness. Liam had been aching with fondness. It was a side-effect of this situation he’d been learning to deal with.

The second time it happened, it had been three in the morning and there had been a show that night. Liam doesn’t remember, exactly, how his hands had ended up holding onto Zayn’s hips as he leaned against the sink, but they’d been there, and Zayn’s smiles were blinding and continuous. He’d been so happy that night, Liam remembers, but he never thought to ask why. Liam’s never thought to ask much of anything, really.

There really hadn’t been much of a reason to get drunk, but they’d been in Los Angeles and the show had been fantastic and there had been clubs and colourful drinks and _Zayn._ Zayn just being there had been enough to wind Liam up, make his skin feel on fire every time he grinned or held his heavy hand on Liam’s waist, always steadying him, always his anchor.

And they’d ended up fumbling to the elevator with the help of security, Zayn giggling drunkenly the entire time, and then they’d been in a bathroom together and Liam thinks he’d been looking for something, because he didn’t need to pee, but Zayn was there and he had been a little distracted, maybe.

“Love you, Li, yeah?” Zayn had said, for some reason, his big, beautiful eyes twinkling in that strange way they always had, the only light coming from the bedroom. His eyes had been so entrancing. “Alright? ‘S that alright?”

At the time, it’d been kind of stupid. But at the time, Liam hadn’t really known what Zayn was saying to him.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Liam had said, and knocked their foreheads together, a little too hard.

“Ow,” Zayn had said and giggled, but hadn’t moved. “That hurt, Leeyum.”

“’M sorry,” Liam had said, and pulled away to run his thumb along the place he’d bumped into him, brushing his hair out of the way. He’d still had his quiff, then, but it had fallen as the night went on.

Zayn had watched him for a moment as Liam did this, licking his lips.

“Why d’you always do that?” Liam had asked, mostly drunken curiosity. “Lick your lips, I mean.”

“Oh.” Zayn had paused, considering this. His dark eyelashes had blinked confusedly. “I dunno.”

Liam hadn’t been thinking. He’d just been talking, drunk and just saying things, really.

“Makes me wanna kiss you, sometimes,” Liam had said. The words had fallen out of his lips faster than he had time to process his own brain thinking them. He gets like that, when he’s drunk. “’S that weird?”

And Liam had maybe been leaning on him, holding onto him, because he’d been so dizzy and unsteady, but maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe he just liked to have a reason to be this close to him. Maybe he’d gotten awfully good at making up excuses for the things he really wanted to do anyways.

Zayn had frowned a bit. “No,” he said, voice soft. “I mean, not really.”

“Okay,” Liam had said, accepting this somehow. His eyes had fallen shut. He’d been awfully tired. Zayn had tilted his head up, and Liam had known this because their noses were bumping in a way that he knew always came before a kiss.

“You could, I mean,” Zayn had told him, almost a whisper, right in his space like that. Liam’s eyes had been crossed when he’d tried to open them up and look at him. He hadn’t been thinking, really, at all. He’d just wanted Zayn. He just, he’d wanted…

“Yeah?” Liam had asked, feeling breathless already.

“Yeah,” Zayn had answered, and there hadn’t been another moment before the gap between them was closed.

Liam doesn’t remember very much beyond this point other than the insistent press of his lips on Zayn’s and feeling Zayn pressing back, hearing a noise in the back of Zayn’s throat, feeling his bottom lip under his tongue and the knocking of teeth and the taste of his mouth. It had been messy but not quite foreign, somehow, even if he knows he’d never done it before then, at least not like this. It had been like kissing a memory, a vivid dream, something you know you’ve explored before but in another life, maybe, or in another place, but with the same person and the same taste in their mouth and the same press of fingertips to hips, teeth to skin. It had made Liam dizzy, how strange and familiar and steady and unstable it all made him feel, a million contradictions at once. It had made him feel wonderful.

He remembers laughing, after, drunk and happy and careless but feeling like he’d somehow resolved something. He remembers lacing his fingers through Zayn’s, complaining he’d grown too tired and needed to sleep, insisting that he’d needed Zayn to keep him warm even with the heavy comforter. He remembers the two of them stripping their shirts and cuddling under the sheets and feeling Zayn’s lips on the side of his face, his forehead, his nose. He remembers smiling as he fell asleep.

He remembers the pull in his chest when Zayn had curled up against him that night, when Liam had woken up with Zayn still in his arms, perfect and pliant and warm. Liam can’t help but remember how they’d untangled their legs at one in the afternoon, the latest Liam had slept in _ages_ , and how he’d stumbled into his own room to shower and act as nonchalant as possible. It was a joke, in the morning. Zayn had wiggled his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, winked at him, even. Liam had blushed and shrugged, like, _whatever, like, not my first drunken snog with a mate_ , even though it had been, even though it was more than that, probably.

And it wasn’t a thing at all, really. Liam’s not sure why he could never say anything about it, why laughing it off was easier than talking. He’s not sure why he kissed Zayn at all.

He wonders what would’ve happened if he had woken Zayn up with another press of his lips. He wonders what would’ve happened if he would’ve said, “ _hey, maybe I don’t totally regret that?_ ” or maybe _made_ it a thing, told Zayn that he was scared and he had a girlfriend but he wanted to kiss Zayn, even if they were drunk and shouldn’t have, even if it meant he wasn’t entirely straight anymore or a cheater or a liar or whatever else.

Liam wonders if this all could’ve been solved years ago, and he knows it could have, and that thought alone makes him sick to his stomach.

They’ve been so stupid. All this time.

Liam just wasn’t thinking. He was acting and then assuming, without even _questioning_ , without even considering that maybe something was actually going on. They kissed twice, not entirely by accident. They fell asleep half on top of each other, limbs overlapping, more nights than not. Everything about them was so intimate, so reserved, private and gentle. From knowing glances to reassuring touches to inside jokes, to secrets, to feelings spilled out in the dark about this crazy, unpredictable life they had shared. Liam trusted Zayn with his entire world, and Zayn shared everything with Liam, in ways that made Liam feel significant, in ways that made Liam feel trusted. Liam felt loved by Zayn even before he knew what kind of love that was, even before he knew that the time Liam spent pining, Zayn had been too.

And all this time, it never occurred to Liam what it all might’ve meant, what Zayn had meant when he said, “ _Love you, Li, yeah? ‘S that okay?”_ that night in the hotel, and what he meant every time before that. Liam never considered that this would ever happen and he feels like he’s suffocating, even still, even after purging all the memories and emotions and internal conflicts out of his system – it’s too much. It’s too much for him to sit around doing nothing but he’s left lying here in his bed at five in the morning, his thoughts so exhausting and so, so relentless.

All this time wasted, Liam thinks bitterly, turning in his bed for the dozenth time.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Zayn’s working at trying to put himself back together. Sometimes putting yourself back together means reaching out to the people who love you the most to do it for you.

He’s having a hard time talking to most people, but he talks to his mum on the phone several times a day now and feels a new weight lifted each time. She is patient with him, hums when he has something to say, fills the silence with stories from home or what she’s watched on television lately or something new she’s made up in the kitchen when he’s quiet. It’s what gets him through the next couple of days.

After his longest spell without creating anything, he goes back to his art. It’s never been much, and he’ll tell anyone that; it’s just doodles and some spray paint most of the time, honestly, but over the years it’s presented as some kind of safe haven from rest of the world, so it comes as no surprise to him that it becomes a way for him to relax.

It helps with more than just the dark, aching dreams that clutter his mind hours after he’s woken up; it helps him feel productive, and also helps him relearn himself and know himself and smile, maybe, when he finds that he likes what he’s created. He likes being proud of his dumb little drawings, his weird little paintings.

He’s sitting on the floor in his graffiti room, his back against a wall that’s at least mostly dried, and his Doc Martens have flecks of paint on the laces and there are a few smears of green across his black jeans. He tugs down his mask, eyes focused straight across to admire the newest addition. It’s just another Bob Marley portrait, actually, but of the dozens he’s made it might be his favourite. He really likes the red he used. He reaches for his phone to take a picture, finding a smile slipping on his face suddenly in excitement, then dropping just as fast.

The phone is blinking at him to let him know someone’s calling at that moment. His stomach twists and he feels a tug pull on his features, eyes now fixating on the name. The familiar twinge of guilt twists in his stomach. Zayn watches it blink at him insistently and imagines the face on the other end of the line, all furrowed eyebrows and concerned eyes.

He answers it and accidentally bites his tongue too hard.

"Hello," he says, his voice coming out too soft and too shaky. He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious answering a damned phone call.

"Zayn? Holy shit," Jawaad says, then, to someone else: "He picked up! Leave me alone for a minute, will you?"

The shouts in the background on his cousin’s end of the line grow distant within a few seconds, while Zayn takes a few breaths to center himself. He wonders if Jawaad is at home. He wonders why he’d wanted to call Zayn, right then. He wonders how many times he’s called before today.

He tries to ignore another crushing wave of guilt but fails. He swallows thickly.

He’s trying, he reminds himself.

"You still there?" Jawaad says after a few moments.

"Yeah," Zayn says, letting go of a breath. He stares out the window, thinking of how much time he’s wasted of Jawaad’s, and his mum’s, and all his family’s and the boys’ and everyone else’s. Thinks of them all worrying and how Zayn is ignoring them for what reason, really?

Zayn isn’t sure what to start this conversation out with really, and debates internally for a moment, before: "Listen, um. I sort of owe everyone a massive apology, like."

"Uh, yeah," Jawaad says quite dubiously. "Everyone's been losing their mind, mate. We miss the fuck outta you. You with Shahid?”

“Nah,” Zayn says.

“Who’re you with, then?"

Zayn rubs at his eyes and says, “Um, no one, really.”

"Wait - what?" Jawaad asks. "I - you've been _alone_?"

"Yeah?" Zayn says, not really sure what Jawaad had been expecting.

"What the fuck, we thought you were with - _someone_. What the fuck are you doing alone?"

Zayn sighs extensively once more, standing up from his spot on the floor and dusting off his pants. "Eh, nothing of use, really, mate.” He itches the back of his head, surveying the room. "Kinda wallowing in my past mistakes and all that."

Jawaad says, “Right, so, leaving her at the altar, then? Or was it asking her to marry you?”

Zayn winces, not quite prepared for the bluntness and brashness that usually accompanies speaking with Jawaad. "Um.”

"Sorry, mate, wound's still fresh and all, I know,” Jawaad says quickly. “We've all just been kinda guessing what the hell went on.”

Zayn hums, non-committal, kicking a paint can across the room. There’s a lot people don’t understand and he’s not really excited about explaining it all.

Anyways, he’s sure the papers have written enough interesting things to keep the outside world preoccupied for a long while.

"Call us more often, Zayn,” Jawaad says, then. “We’re all, like, here for you.”

"Yeah,” he says. “I will. It’s just – I needed, like, time, yeah? Things are…y’know, weird with me.”

Jawaad, of course, takes none of this. "Yeah, well, you've been given well enough time.”

Zayn chuckles, with Jawaad chuckling back, and it feels nice. He forgets how much he needs the people in his life to straighten him out now and again. Especially now, of course. Especially now.

The next person he talks to is Doniya, and she says all the right things, like she always does, but it doesn't relieve the piercing in his skull. His thoughts swell too big for his brain and he doesn't mean to tune out her babbling speech about mistakes and decisions and life paths, but it's too much knowing that he doesn't deserve to be loved by so many wonderful people that care enough to call and tell him these things.

She tells him, "It's so hard, Zayn, because I know you're alone and we want to help you. It's as if you're across the globe again but you're so close to us now, and you're pushing us out. Let us help you, yeah? Let us love you. It’s our job. It’s our only job."

He cries for an hour after he hangs up the phone, promising to visit everyone soon, and meaning it more than ever.

The next morning, he deletes most of his messages without reading them and empties his voicemail. He bites his lip hard when he hears Liam’s voice. _“Zayn, I need to – ,“_ followed by a beep as he deletes it and the electronic voice informs him, “ _message deleted. Next message…”_

He doesn’t think about it.

He tries, tries with everything in him, to just not to think about it.

After he’s done, he sends a text to Shahid and Danny, and Danny answers first.

_Duuuude! Call me right now!!_

He's typing out a response when his phone rings.

“Hello?” he says, then clears his throat. He tries not to do that anxious stomach thing again. It’s really annoying.

Danny says, “What’re you _doing_ , bro?” and the conversation goes from there with Zayn recounting all of his general uselessness and making up some bullshit about how he’s trying to get his thoughts together, trying to get his _life_ together, when in actuality he’s just been doing a whole lot of sitting around.

Half-way through the conversation, Danny tells him, "You need people, man. You can't hole yourself up in that house the rest of your fuckin’ life."

"I know,” Zayn says, because he _knows_ , and he’s working on it. It’s a headache, though. He never realised the difference between being alone and being lonely and how it hurts when they co-exist. “Fuck.”

"Is her shit like, everywhere?" Danny asks.

"Yeah.” He eyes a pair of heels on the floor of the living room. He can't touch any of it. It feels like walking around in a museum of the life he used to live, and he's an outsider, watching the displays collect dust.

He always feels like an outsider, somehow. Even in his own life.

"Has she asked for it back?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then.”

It ends up being settled that he has to leave, and he also has to get all of her stuff off of his hands somehow. Danny was always good like that. Sorted out a plan and set him on a path. It’s extremely helpful when he feels as aimless as he does right now.

After he hangs up, he paces around his living room for a while before deciding he needs to do something slightly productive or he’s going to go mad. He ends up cleaning up the mess he’s made over the past few weeks, running the vacuum in nearly every room and sorting out the dishes and putting his clothes through the washer. It does wonders to his mood, serving as a great distraction as he busies himself with the tasks, and he feels a whole lot more accomplished than he’s felt in days.

When there isn’t anything left to do other than stand around and watch the washing machine do its job, his thoughts get a little muddled and cloudy and somehow his phone is in his hands again. He stares as it blinks with a new message every few minutes. He’s become quite popular nowadays.

He swallows, knowing what he should do right now, but too terrified to do it. He’s such a cowardly asshole.

Impulsively, he skims through his contact list, landing on the one name it hurts to think about most days because it’s the name he’s got the most guilt tied to.

He doesn’t really want to do this so he squeezes his eyes so tightly he sees stars and sits down when he feels lightheaded. He counts to ten twice before she picks up.

"Are you ready to talk to me?"

He doesn’t really want to do this.

"Uh." He feels a little nauseous. He’s tired of this feeling. "Not exactly," he admits.

She sighs in the way she tends to do, and Zayn can picture how she looks right now. How she always looks when she’s exhausted by his stubbornness or laziness or whatever else. "Then what do you want from me, Zayn?"

He swallows, eyeing a short black dress in the hamper. "I - d'you want your stuff?"

A deafening silence follows the question and he turns his eyes to gaze at the ceiling.

"Are you going to bring it to me?"

"I - um," he says, and he's not sure how he did this for so long before. "I'm leaving the house to like, stay with Danny, um. So you can like, send someone or uh, get it yourself. If you want. Um. So."

She sighs again. "Right."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, feeling impossibly small, feeling impossibly horrible for all that he’s done and all that he doesn’t even begin to know how to fix.

"Sure," she says before hanging up, and he decides his cowardice and negligence to deal with his problems means he has no reason to be annoyed at all.

She should hate him for what he's done. And he'll let her hate him as long as she needs, since it's exactly what he deserves.

His load of laundry finishes up, the dryer beeping a few times in succession, snapping Zayn out of his daze and Zayn refocuses on the task of getting himself together.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Liam’s so used to trying. He’s been built, structured, _trained_ to try his hardest. He’s so used to putting his all into something, every ounce of his energy and sweat and mind power. He’s used to overworking himself, not even realizing it until he’s literally collapsed into his bed at the end of the day. He’s used to meticulous care and his brain going numb from focus and his limbs heavy with exhaustion. Liam’s always been a damned hard worker, never half-asses anything, and if he fails at something, he knows if nothing else, there was nothing short of his entire heart and soul going into it, even as disappointing as the outcome might be.

The thing between him and Zayn is that their relationship has always been defined by its effortlessness, which was something that admittedly confused Liam at first. When he was much younger, he’d sometimes fall into the trap of trying too hard to win the affections of others. He’d just really, really wanted to be liked and appreciated, and this was no different with the boys. Somehow, miraculously, there had been none of that with Zayn. Being with Zayn had been nothing but effortless; all hazy conversations like mid-summer surrounding them, easy smiles and gentle hands, an arm curling around his waist like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Maybe, Liam thinks, that’s why he fell in love with him.

Because Liam had always been _so used_ to his energy constantly exerted on his projects, his creative endeavors, his every waking moment; sweating it out at the gym, jumping around on stage, working and pushing and trying his goddamn hardest at absolutely _everything_.

Being around Zayn was the exact opposite of that, in almost every way. Liam felt this need to unwind around Zayn, everything slowing down so that he was able to just exist, without a pressing need to do _more_ – only a warm sense of sureness and ease humming around inside him. Their laughter and jokes and everything were thoughtless, second-nature, and always melted away the heavy energy that pushed Liam to do _more more more_. It only makes sense that time with Zayn became an escape for him. Though Liam would survive, surely, without Zayn’s presence. He’d managed for years before he’d even met him, but the ease that accompanies Liam’s interactions with Zayn is something so precious to Liam that he really doesn’t want to think of a world without it. Which is why he’s so numbingly afraid of fucking this up.

It’s spiraled into this thing where he’s not sure which is worse: acting or not acting. Liam’s learned that he’s _really_ fucked things up over the years, and bringing it all to light is kind of giving him a headache because they – they’re so _stupid_. And Zayn’s hurting enough as is, with this recently called off engagement, and that whole mess to sort through. But not doing anything, on Liam’s part, feels equally as horrible.

A large part of him wants to just find Zayn and kiss him until he can’t think anymore. Kiss him so he knows, so he can feel all the words Liam’s trapped in his throat over the years, kiss him and kiss him and hold him, in the way they’ve never allowed themselves. Liam doesn’t want to talk or explain or anything, he just wants to kiss Zayn and touch him so that he knows, so that he can feel every regret Liam has for leaving him, for not saying anything, for letting this eat at them over the years. He wants to kiss Zayn’s skin and make up for lost time, forget about the mistakes and the fuck-ups and everyone else, everything else, and just kiss him and feel him kissing back, because Liam _knows_ now, he understands, that they’ve spent too much time being stupid.

But the thing is Liam just can’t – he can’t do that. It’s not the right thing to do, and he has an extremely guilty conscience and no matter what he thinks, or what he feels, he will always do what’s right, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if it’s as painful as this is. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he acted on every possible thing he’s dreamt of doing before figuring out how to talk to Zayn first. He has to talk to him. He has to be patient, and he has to be careful. It’s a fucking headache, is what it is, but then again, the most important thing to him in the entire world is on the line, so he figures it ought to be more than a little stressful.

Zayn is too important. He deserves more than carelessness and Liam giving in to his desires. He deserves someone who is attentive and careful. He deserves everything.

Liam’s trying to enjoy himself, honestly, when he agrees to go out for drinks with Andy one Friday night. It’s the first time in a while he’s gone out with Andy, but it’s an easy offer to accept. He’s trying not to let everything in his life turn to a halt because the person he’s been in love with for years has no idea that he feels the same exact way, and there’s practically nothing he can do about it.

He’s trying, but, in retrospect, as Liam always, _always,_ ends up thinking: the alcohol was probably not the best idea.

“I have to tell you something,” Liam says, probably way too drunk for this conversation. “Andy, I really have to tell you something.”

“Yeah, mate, I know,” Andy says, leaning back against the wall of the booth they’re sitting in. “You’re not all right, are you?”

“No,” Liam says miserably into his empty glass. “But I could be, like. I could be.”

Andy’s just watching him for a long moment, watching Liam stare at his empty glass despondently. Then, he’s motioning for the waitress, and a bottle of beer that Liam definitely doesn’t need is in front of him.

He takes it anyway.

“So,” Liam starts.

“So,” Andy parrots back, raising his eyebrows. Liam takes a drink, not sure how to tell his best friend any of this. Not sure how he kept this all inside for so goddamn long. He’s so good at internalizing the important things. Too good.

“He told me he loved me,” Liam blurts, pulling the bottle from his lips.

“Whoa, who?”

Liam grimaces, twisting the neck of the bottle between his fingers, the glass sliding around on the tabletop. “You heard all the shit about Zayn’s wedding, yeah?”

“I mean – yeah, like, but the fuck? Are you – “

“Mate,” Liam says, shaking his head. He’s still not really looking at Andy. “Zayn, like, he told me he loved me on his _wedding day_ , called the whole thing off, and I just, like, left. Like, couldn’t even deal with it.”

Andy sits up a bit, blinking rapidly. “Uh, holy shit,” he says. “That’s what fuckin’ happened?”

Liam nods, frowning as he takes another drink. “Yeah.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Andy says. “So - are you – like. Have you talked to him since?”

“No,” Liam says, shaking his head. “No, Andy. Haven’t talked to him.”

And it’s killing Liam, honestly, because Andy’s just looking at Liam with these careful eyes, like he’s searching Liam for some more information. Liam’s too drunk for this, he thinks, and takes another drink.

“Mate,” Andy says. “That’s fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Liam laughs, bitter in his throat. “Tell me about it.”

Andy, of course, keeps on. “What the fuck is your life right now, bro?” Liam laughs again, humourlessly. Andy joins in, soon enough, the two of them drunkenly laughing in a booth in a quickly emptying night club.

Their laughter dies down and Liam’s staring at the wall against their booth, no words.

He’s drunkenly thinking of their drunken kiss, up against the sink in a hotel bathroom, bruising and lasting and burning. Laughing about it and ignoring the collapsing feeling in his chest and never learning to open his mouth, never learning to talk about the things that mattered. Never telling his best goddamn friend in the world that this was even going on. Masking it so well, over the years. He became a fucking pro, honestly.

He wants Zayn so bad. He’s drunk and he’s just thinking of Zayn, same as always, except these thoughts are somehow much more striking right now, like this. Andy’s just looking at him and Liam feels like he’s going to fall apart, right there, for no reason at all.

“I love him,” Liam says suddenly, as if he’s just realised it.

“Yeah,” Andy says, looking at Liam with a sad smile on his face. Liam’s never really seen this look in his eyes before and it makes him feel nervous. He rubs the back of his neck and frowns at his bottle again. “Yeah, mate.”

“I never talked about it, though, like,” Liam says, like Andy doesn’t know. “With you, but with anyone, either. You know? I never did and like, I think it messed with me, sort of. Keeping it all inside.”

“Why’d you do that, though? I would’ve listened,” Andy says, and Liam knows how much this thing has hurt everyone, how he’s hurt his best friend by making him think he doesn’t trust him.

“I tried to, I think,” Liam says, itching the side of his face. “I was just – I was kind of, like, ashamed, I guess. I didn’t really want anyone to know I’d been the guy who fell for one of his best mates.”

Andy shakes his head at him. “You’re alright.”

Liam groans, finishing off his bottle and wanting something else, and he knows he shouldn’t, and his head is aching and his stomach is lurching and he’s wasting so much time, and there’s nothing to do about it, and he could’ve spoken up, he could’ve said _something_ but –

“I’m such a coward,” he says, rubbing his palms into his eyes.

“Liam – no, listen,” Andy says. “You’re not.”

“I am,” he insists, because he isn’t brave at all. He’s stupid and a coward and useless, really, and he’s never felt so painfully useless in his goddamn life. “I am, mate. Such a stupid arsehole, honestly. Bloody coward.”

“Then do something, Liam,” Andy says then, and when Liam looks at him, his eyes are narrowed. “Fucking do something about it, yeah?”

Liam’s throat is tight and he’s just like, “I love him.” His eyes are watering a bit. He hates crying when he’s drunk. He’s only done it once, but that was before, that was when he didn’t know what he knows now. Somehow it’s worse. “Andy, mate, I love him but I don’t know what to do.”

Liam is so lost, so cowardly, because he wants to talk to Zayn but he can’t talk, and Zayn doesn’t want to talk to him. They’re so far apart right now, so much between them that Zayn doesn’t understand and that Liam’s struggling to make sense of, and it should be easy, but it isn’t. Liam feels like he’s wasted his chance after all these years and things are too muddled up to untangle. He feels like he’s not going to be able to come back from this.

And Liam doesn’t feel he’s worth the trouble anyway.

He sinks into the booth a bit, hands covering his face like he always does when he cries.

“Liam,” Andy says, and he’s crawling into Liam’s side of the booth, hand coming around his shoulders. “Listen to me, yeah? You’re gonna regret this for the rest of your life if you don’t do this now.”

Liam sobs, body shaking apart. He regrets it already, somehow. He regrets so much.

“I think he needs you, mate,” Andy says. “He loves you. Liam, I – I used to see it, and like, I used to be sorta worried for you, because of what might happen to you because of it. And it’s like – I know you’re scared, and – and it must look so simple to everyone but, like. You should be happy, like. He makes you so happy.”

“Yeah,” Liam says quietly, breathing shakily.

Andy tells him, “You gotta do something, Liam. Anything.”

“He won’t call me back,” Liam says. “ _Fuck_. I call him every bloody day. He’s made this so difficult.”

“Zayn’s gone through quite a bit of shit ‘cause of the mess you guys made, alright?” Andy says. “You know that. And plus, like, he doesn’t really understand your side yet.”

He’s spent years listening to Andy’s drunken wisdom but he’s never needed it more than now.

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding. “He doesn’t understand anything. Like, anything.”

“So figure it out, mate. Tell him. I don’t care how, it’s just fucking necessary,” Andy says. “You can’t live like this anymore. Especially when you don’t have to.”

“I love him,” Liam says, and each time he says it, it’s like he’s admitting something new. It’s so much more than he realised, when it’s all brought to the surface like this. It’s all so much. “For so long, like. Fuck.”

“I know,” Andy says, bringing Liam into a hug. He sinks into the touch. “I know. You’re gonna be alright, yeah? You’re gonna be alright.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Zayn feels like he’s learning how to be self-sufficient for the first time in his life, but he’s also learning how to need people. How to rely on his family, how to call his mum when he’s anxious, and how to reach out when he’s thinking dark thoughts. He never thought so much independence would be found in needing others.

He dresses himself the next morning and tries to look himself in the eye when he meets his reflection. He clenches his fists but he doesn't think he deserves all of the terrible things he's wished on himself lately, at least not entirely, so he calls it progress.

He packs an overnight bag to stay at Danny’s, who makes all of the right jokes and pokes at Zayn's rib cage until his lips turn up, and it feels nice to have someone care enough to do these sorts of things. He's tired of being alone so they share Danny's bed that night, and he doesn't wake up every hour with the feeling that his lungs are swelling too large for his insides, so he calls that progress, too.

Danny plays Zayn some new tunes and old favourites and it's incredibly therapeutic, how harmonies come as easy as breathing and belting out riffs feels like reigniting a fire in him he thought had long died out. He hadn't listened to much of anything since everything happened and it’s working honest to god miracles to his general state; he laughs a little easier and his footsteps aren’t so heavy and he can close his eyes and feel something other than exhaustion. Instead he feels content, instead feels renewal and possibility and freedom, as odd as it may sound. He’d felt so enslaved to his past mistakes, but with his favourite Kendrick Lamar song vibrating through Danny's car as it speeds down the highway, he feels like he had really only ever been shackled to himself.

He spends a week relearning his closest friends and Ant brings over enough weed that it makes life easy to forget for a little while, makes it easy to pretend this world with good music and shitty food and stupid movies at four in the morning is all that matters, all that exists. He spends a week in the comfort that he can escape and change and grow, become a little stronger on his own. He spends a week, content, until Danny must think he's given Zayn enough time.

"So what the hell are you gonna do, mate?"

The TV is a little loud, blaring something about a furniture liquidation.

"What?"

Danny turns down the TV, glancing over to where Ant is tending to his ramen noodles in the kitchen, before asking, "Have you talked to her?"

"Not really," he says, tilting his chin down to fixate on his mismatched socks. Or rather, the socks Danny let him borrow, since he'd only brought a couple changes of clothes.

"Are you going to, like, soon?"

"Yeah, like. I've got to," Zayn says, tilting his head. "I definitely owe her an explanation."

"And what is it, then?" Danny asks.

"What?”

Danny blinks at him for a moment, pursing his lips like he's considering his next words carefully, but all he ends up saying is, "What would be your explanation?"

It's a little surreal, considering that no one actually knows what the fuck actually happened that day except him and Liam. Everyone's so concerned about him now, but a part of him distantly wonders how things might be different if they knew. If everyone knew that this was all because he couldn’t sort out his feelings and fell in love with the wrong person knowingly and let this all happen anyway.

"Haven't quite sorted that out, yet,” Zayn tells him.

If only they knew.

"Are you gonna keep me guessin'?" he says. Ant’s disappeared somewhere, Zayn realises. Probably to avoid this fucking mess of a conversation. Zayn doesn’t blame him.

"I'm sorry," Zayn says, because he needs to apologise more often. His fatal flaws have always been his pride and his stubbornness, and he's giving up both. "It's like, a lot. Don’t think it’d make much sense to anyone, is all."

"C'mon now," Danny says, not having it.

Zayn sighs, scratching at his skull. He doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know if he could articulate it if he tried. What is there to say, honestly? What is there to explain?

"Was it someone else?" Danny asks.

He swallows, scratching his face.

"Yeah."

Danny coughs. "Shit.”

"I know."

It’s quiet again, Danny probably processing this information, and Zayn’s watching the silent television, expecting the next question.

"Someone I know much about?"

"Yeah. Sort of," Zayn says, lifting his shoulders a bit. "It just. It’s like, I don't know why I did any of what I did, like. ‘Cause I wanted to marry her, but I didn't want her. Or stopped wanting her, at some point, between everything, between wanting - this person. And it was eating at me, Danny. It was fuckin’ suffocating me, like. And I guess I just couldn’t live a lie. Couldn’t continue on and act like my world wasn't like, revolving around someone else. ‘Cause I shouldn’t have done that to her, but it would've been worse to marry her anyway and have her live that lie with me, like. I couldn't do it anymore, and I realised it then that I’d be stuck in that forever and do way more damage than anything if I went through with it all, so."

And Zayn’s never actually talked about this before, but he finds it surprisingly easy to say. It almost makes him feel better, talking about it.

“And this other person? Do they know?”

Zayn just nods, eyes caught on the floor.

“Zayn,” Danny says, evenly. “Mate.”

“’S okay,” Zayn says, mostly to himself. “’S okay, like, I’m gonna move on. It’ll blow over. I mean, it’s been a while but it’s like, real now and I can’t let this happen again, yeah? Can’t let some dumbass infatuation ruin anything else in my life.”

"Zayn?" Danny says after a long moment.

"Yeah?" he says, blinking up at him.

"It's Liam, isn't it?"

The words hit him like a train. He sucks in a breath, not able to say anything. He can't even nod. He just sits there, paralyzed, fixated on his mismatched socks.

He doesn't respond but Danny curls an arm around his shaking shoulders, and when the shaking is uncontrollable and his breathing is too heavy and his eyes are red, Danny runs his fingers through his hair and makes him feel like he's allowed to lose it every once in the while at the sake of being able to put himself back together again in the morning.

He might be falling apart but it's the right thing to do, he thinks. For now.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Liam’s nursing his hangover with overly-sweetened tea and eggos when he gets a call from Danny.

"Hello?" he says, leaning against his counter and watching Andy raise an eyebrow at him from his spot on the couch.

"Mate, you need to talk to Zayn,” is the first thing Danny says.

Liam clears his throat, pauses. He knows this. He’s pretty sure everyone in the fucking world knows this, actually, so he tells him, "He won't answer my calls."

Andy makes some kind of annoyed noise from the living room, and Danny lets out a frustrated groan on the other end of the line. "He isn't answering anyone's calls, alright? Because you fucked him up. And like, thanks for that, mate. It's been a joy for us all trying to piece him back together after this mess."

Liam can’t help the terrible frown that tugs on his features. "I - I didn't mean to, I - "

“I’m not saying you meant to,” Danny says. “I'm asking you to fix it."

"Danny," Liam says, eyes falling shut. "I don't think you understand."

"What?"

Liam pauses, shaking his head a bit. Andy’s still staring at him, not trying at all to pretend like he’s not eavesdropping.

"I - I love him. I love him, too," and Liam’s biting down on his lip, hard. It's so much to say it out loud, after all these years. It was damn near impossible with Niall and it was horrifying with Andy, even drunk, and it’s a strange and aching feeling in his chest right now. He’s tired of these words hurting him so much. They’re not supposed to be that way.

Danny must know what happened with Zayn and Liam, the two of them shut up in that stupid room in the castle on Zayn’s intended wedding day. Danny must know that Zayn thinks Liam left him. Thinks Liam doesn't love him. Thinks the most impossible, stupid things, and it’s all Liam’s fault that these things are even considered.

"You think I don't know that?" Danny says.

Liam nearly chokes on tea. "I – Sorry?"

Danny just says, "I talked to Louis."

"Wait - _what_?" Liam sputters, because that still doesn't make any sense.

There’s a loud, exhausted sigh on the other end. "It's not that difficult to piece together, mate, but - you've got to fix it. You've gotta explain to him why the fuck you abandoned him like that, and tell him the truth. He deserves the truth, Liam."

Liam’s head is still spinning, entirely confused but, he still says, "I know. Fuck, man. I'll. I will."

"Seriously - this has been going on too long. Should've been resolved years ago," Danny says.

He can't speak, really. He just sits there and breathes, watching Andy furrowing his brow at him from the couch, and trying not to lose it right now. He’s tired of having meltdowns every other day and solving nothing. He’s so tired.

Danny continues, "I can't tell him for you, y’know? You gotta do it. You gotta sort this shit out. You'll both be better for it.”

"Alright," Liam says. "Alright."

Because Liam knows this, he’s known since he walked out that door that he was going to have to backtrack and explain himself to Zayn, but sometimes he just does things without thinking. Sometimes he just responds and forgets to let things sink in before freaking out, losing his shit, letting his mind unravel unto the floor until it’s a knotted mess.

"You good, bro?" Danny asks after a moment, voice considerably softer.

"I'm scared," Liam admits quietly, avoiding Andy’s gaze still.

"Hey," Danny says. "Don't be. You'll work it out. It's a mess but you can - like. You make him so happy, like. He loves the fuck outta you."

“Yeah?” Liam actually smiles, his cheek pushing up against the screen of his phone.

"God," Danny says, sounding exasperated all over again. "You two are so daft. Jesus, yes. It's fate, or summat. You just gotta fucking get your arse over there, and kiss his face off. Whatever. I don't really care about your strategy. Just fix my best mate, yeah?"

“Yeah,” Liam promises. “I will.”

And Liam feels like if he’s got people like Danny, a person who’s known and loved Zayn for years, rooting for him, rooting for both of them, then he has to take this chance. He’s never been more certain about anything else in his life. And maybe that’s what’s scaring him so much, the fact that he knows that he’s let this go on for as long as he has, even when he knows exactly what he wants, even when he knows what Zayn really feels.

Liam knows that they’re going to be stuck in this spot forever, maybe, if he doesn’t do something. He can’t let Zayn think he’s rejected him for any longer. And Zayn’s had time to himself, time he’s needed to sort out some of his own problems, and hopefully he’s done that. Danny’s calling him and telling him to fucking _do something_ , so that’s certainly signal enough to act.

He spent nearly five years living out of Zayn’s back pocket, along with Louis and Niall and Harry; he fell into step with these boys, and learned how to be a best friend and a brother and a leader, in some ways, and also how to be a confidant and what it was like to need nothing but four pairs of arms around him when he was the happiest he’d ever been.

He’s spent nearly six years knowing Zayn, falling into step with him and understanding that it might’ve been an accident, it might’ve been fated, it might have been blind but they fell into each other, quickly but then again not very quickly at all. Six years and some time within that spent knowing, and only a few weeks within that spent _knowing_ , and Liam is understanding that this wasn’t meant to ruin them. This wasn’t meant to tear them apart, to confuse their senses, to make them bite their lips and turn away. This was meant to take their bond and make it ten times stronger. This was meant to aid and to mend and to heal everything that’s been so broken over the years, the places that hurt even though they could never explain why.

He decides to make the three-hour drive to his parents’ house soon after Andy leaves, his mother nearly crying with joy as soon as he steps through the door, holding him close.

Sometime after arriving, he’s sitting in his parents’ kitchen and watching his father skim through the morning paper like he’s done since he was a child.

“Liam, have you eaten lunch yet, love?” his mother asks, eyes soft and sincere, touching his shoulder as she sets his cup of tea in front of him.

He feels a bit like a child.

“Yes, mum, thank you,” he says before sipping his tea and watches his father, who’s looking at him now.

“Liam,” his father says, and he’s always been so tough on Liam, in a good way. In a way that always made Liam challenge himself and never settle for less and work until he’s really and truly earned it.

“Yeah, dad?” Liam says. He’s just spent his morning telling him everything (not _everything_ – but nearly) and he’s trying not to shake so much, trying not to feel so scared when he knows he’s certain about what he feels, what he’s explained, what his parents now know.

His father looks quite serious, his brow furrowed when he looks at Liam steadily. “Is he worth it?” he asks, clears his throat. “This boy, this person you’ve known for what, six years, now? I want to know that you’re certain of him. You’re certain he’s worth it. Because there’s a lot you’re leaving to chance here, son, and – ”

“He’s more than worth it,” Liam says suddenly and surely. “Dad, he’s – he’s everything to me.”

His father smiles, suddenly, wrinkles lining his eyes but they’re still as bright as ever. “Alright, then. You know what you have to do.”

His mum sniffles from where she’s standing by the sink, and his father gives him the pointed look that always, _always_ , means “go hug your mother.” Liam hugs her tighter than ever while she cries into his neck for a while, but the rest of the morning is quiet, helping with the household chores and watching part of a footie match with his father.

Liam makes a decision then, a decision to do something that he knows he won’t regret. A decision that he’s been meaning to make for a while now.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

After returning from Danny’s, Zayn spends the next few days with his sisters. They end up going to the city, eating at restaurants and spending too long in too many boutiques and spoiling Safaa undoubtedly, but it’s all together one of the best weeks he’s had in a long time. He never realised how therapeutic time spent with his lifelong friends and family actually is – being around people you can just be whatever around, no effort, no appearances to keep up, no terrible jokes to laugh at, nothing to hide or hold back or diminish. His sisters make him laugh and feel loved and feel important, keep cooing about how much they miss him and mess with his hair, complaining it’s getting long again, and pull at his sweater, asking him why he’s so skinny. He pushes their hands away but still pulls them in for tight hugs when they part, holding the backs of their heads in his hand and kissing their foreheads.

Doniya gives him a sad smile when he’s dropped them off, and Waliyha hugs him the last and the longest, and Safaa blows him ten kisses. He feels a tug in his chest when they go inside, a solid ache of _don’t go_ , and knowing full well he can follow them all inside with not a single eyebrow raised. He’s still afraid of making them worry, though. If they know he’s capable of spending time with them but not needing them as much as he really does, if he can go to his own house and spend the rest of the day alone, if he can live his own life and make his own plans, they won’t worry, they’ll know he’s okay.

And so Zayn’s thinking that he is okay, definitely okay. Time with loved ones is therapeutic like that, he reminds himself. Being around the people that know you the best remind you of exactly who you are. It’s nice. It’s wonderful.

He’s thinking about how worrisome it is that Safaa, his _baby sister,_ is starting year _ten_ next year, as he pulls into the driveway. He sees a silver car he doesn’t recognise, and frowns.

When he gets out of the car, he sees a short blonde woman emerge from the vehicle.

“Hi, Zayn,” her mum says softly, and she doesn’t look at Zayn.

“Hi, Debbie,” he says, and swallows hard, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “How are you?”

Debbie shakes her head a bit, like she’s at a loss for words, but Zayn knows that it means she just doesn’t want to talk to him. He fists his hands in his sweater pockets.

He’d expected them to come by earlier than this, actually. He nods his head a bit, then turns to head inside, feeling the overwhelming nausea building up in his stomach. He wasn’t prepared for this. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, as he sees another petite blonde battling a box through his front door. “I saw your mum, I – “

“Save it,” she says, shaking her head as she catches a stray hair curler and tosses it back into her box. “I’m on my way out, don’t worry.”

Her face is hard lines and narrowed eyebrows as she settles the box onto her side, trying to get past Zayn to the door.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to grasp her tiny wrist in his hand. He watches a deeper frown tug on her features, eyelashes heavy with mascara blinking furiously at him.

“What do you want, Zayn? I’ve got my shit, I’m leaving,” she says, exasperated.

Looking at the damage he’s caused, the coldness in her features, the hard line of her mouth, Zayn inhales. He has to try to fix something, anything, the smallest piece will grant him at least a wink of sleep tonight. “I don’t deserve it, but please – let me…”

“Explain?” she challenges, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “Because I’m starting to think I’ll never get an explanation from you, and that’s really not fair for me.”

“Can we go inside, for a minute?” he asks, and she sighs by way of resignation. Her wrist falls from his hand, and he takes her box from her arm and places it inside the door, shutting it as they step back inside.

Her arms are crossed now and she doesn’t move from inside the doorway, eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, leaning up against the doorframe. He knows it’s stupid, and he knows she doesn’t care, and she shouldn’t care, but the words are killing him with their weight. He’s so endlessly sorry and he doesn’t know what to do with it, because it’s so pathetic, and it’s so sad, and it’s so helpless. “I know it probably means nothing, but I’m so, so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am for doing this to you.”

“Why?” she says after a moment, and there are tears brimming in her eyes, and he did this, he thinks. He’s done this to her. “I need to know why. Why you’d do it?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. He feels so guilty. He’s so impossibly sorry. He doesn’t know how to answer her question. He doesn’t know what to say at all.

“Was I not good enough for you?” she asks then, her voice wet. “Was I not enough? I – “

“ _No_ ,” he asserts, shaking his head. “No, no, jesus, no. This isn’t – it wasn’t you. Never. You were more than perfect, I – “

“Then what?” she says, like she’s given up. “What was it, then? I – I don’t understand how you could do this. Any of it.”

“I wasn’t enough,” he says, swears by it. “I wasn’t enough for you. It was all on me, I swear, it had nothing to do with you. I promise you. I wasn’t good enough. You – you deserve so much better.”

She closes her eyes with a shaky sigh, sitting her box to the side. Her arms cross over her frame. She looks so small and breakable, but he knows how strong she is, how much better she’s doing than he would if he were in her place. She’s one of the strongest people he knows.

Zayn tells her, “I wasn’t honest with you, I. I’m sorry. It’s my fault, I handled it the wrong way, I handled it the _worst_ way – “

“Was it all made up, then? Is that how it went?” she questions now. “You never loved me, and made me love you, and dumped me on my wedding day because you were tired of lying?”

“No – it’s,” he sighs, running a hand through his head. “I did love you.”

He really had loved her, all that time. It just hadn’t been the right kind of love. Not that he’s certain he knows what the right kind of love is for him. He’s certain that the right kind of love doesn’t cause you to hurt others and seal your thoughts up inside yourself and lie.

Maybe Zayn doesn’t know what love is really supposed to be. It’s a shame, really, he thinks again, that he knows love at all.

She sighs at him, shaking her head like she doesn’t believe anything he’s saying.

“I did,” he insists. “It was just – not right. For me, I mean. I…I was proper fucked up. I didn’t tell you everything, and that’s my fault, alright?”

“We were best friends,” she says quietly, sniffles. “Loved you so much. I still love you. It fuckin’ sucks.”

He frowns, the guilt so insistent on his chest. It feels like he’s going to collapse with its weight. “I know. It’s all my fault.”

She’s quiet, and Zayn has to keep talking. He has to explain.

He says, “I felt like you deserved more than someone like me. I’d – I hadn’t been honest, and marrying you wasn’t – it wasn’t right. And I figured that out at the worst possible time, I know, but – it’s better now than later, right?”

“Was it someone else?”

It’s so sudden and it hits him like a punch to the stomach. He winces, voice dying in his throat. He stares at her with wide, wide eyes.

Her lip trembles. “Fucking _hell_ , Zayn.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, because he _is_ , and he’s so close to crying at this point, and fuck. “I – it. It isn’t what you think, I – “

“Who?” she demands then, as he’d expected her to, and he panics. “Just – please tell me. You owe it to me.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head, shuts down. He didn’t want to do this, he’d just wanted to _apologise_ , for now, at least, he didn’t want this to happen all at once - he just. “Fuck.”

“You owe it to me,” she insists.

His headache swells. He whispers, “I really don’t think you want to know.”

“Zayn, please. Please just tell me. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering, you know,” she says, and he knows. He knows that isn’t fair. He’s been so unfair to her and he’s the worst person.

He’s tried making himself believe otherwise lately but this is just reminding him all over again of what he really is, what he’s really done.

Zayn tells her, “You won’t, you shouldn’t. Let it go, yeah? Just.”

“Please,” she begs, and he can’t let her do this, and it’s not fair to her.

Fuck, Zayn thinks. He’s lost so much, at this point. He’s been at his lowest and he’s hurt her enough already and he’s hurt himself. He’s at his most vulnerable and he can’t really go back from this anymore, can’t undo what’s been done. He figures, at the very least, he owes her the complete and honest truth. Putting everything out there for her to know is only fair.

He thinks of brown eyes and realises his mistakes, realises it was never what he was supposed to be thinking of but what he was forgetting, what he wasn’t considering. He was forgetting what she meant to him too, and how much he’d been hurting her without her even knowing yet. How it all came to a head on the day of their wedding and how he let these feelings fester inside of him until he exploded, until it all came crashing down around the both of them, and all she saw was the remains.

He thinks of open-heart surgery and needs to take hold of the situation, needs to realise he’s awake now and he has the opportunity to make amends, if possible, if she’ll let him. And he’s thinking he owes her the world and that he was foolish for ever letting himself think he could give her anything close to it.

“Liam,” he tells her after his prolonged silence. It feels like a curse, saying his name. The worst kind of damning curse.

It’s another long moment of her blinking at him, her mouth falling unhinged like she doesn’t understand. Zayn doesn’t understand either. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, to be honest, and he’s lived it.

“You – you’d gotten over him,” she insists blindly. “When we’d – before we even – you told me it was a _crush_. You told me he didn’t think of you like that.”

And Zayn remembers when it had been, when he was talking to girls to distract himself from it, when all it took was her laughter on the other end of the phone line to remove himself from the idea that Liam was in the other room skyping with his own girlfriend. It had been just a crush, he’d thought, and she was enough to take him away from it all.

“He doesn’t,” he tells her, feeling his headache swell, thinking about him saying, _“I can’t do this right now”_ and all those nights between the two of them in the hotel rooms, all those touches and soft smiles and it all meant nothing to Liam, and meant the world to Zayn, and it’s so… “I. He never. I just couldn’t…I couldn’t shake it, I guess.”

Things weren’t really supposed to go this way for Zayn. She was more than enough but Zayn was too selfish, he needed it all, he needed this impossible boy to love him back and he’s just so greedy, is the thing. His worst trait.

Her eyes soften, a sad, “Oh, Zayn,” falling from her lips and Zayn shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “This isn’t – it’s not about me. You’re – I screwed you over, alright, and you’ll never know how sorry I am. I’m so sorry.”

He’s shaking a bit when he grabs at his hair, and her blue eyes are so big and wide as she looks on him like he’s something broken. “Darling,” she says softly, carefully, like Zayn might shatter. He might.

“Don’t,” he says again, firmly, shaking his head again. “I…”

He didn’t think he’d ever feel her arms holding him like that again, and it’s nice, her holding him close. “Shh,” she says, and she’s always been so good like that, always knowing what he needed. He never deserved her.

“You’re too good, you know that? Way too good for me,” he tells her, breathing in her scent. “You’ve got to know that. You were more than enough. I wasn’t. I was no good for you.”

“I know,” she says, and there’s a smile in her voice now. It makes his heart feel a little less heavy. “I know, silly. It’s fine.”

“You deserve so much better than me,” he tells her, and it’ll never be enough, how much he insists this. He pulls away, looking in her blue, blue eyes. “You’ve got to know that.”

She looks like she’s not sure what to say for a moment, but then she tells him gently, “You deserve someone, too, you know. You deserve someone who loves you back.”

“Don’t,” he whispers again, he’s still shaking.

“Zayn,” she says, pulling away from him completely. “Don’t wither away at the sake of someone else, yeah? I know it’s been ages, but I think you’ve got to let go before it ruins anything else. You’ll never be happy like this.”

“I know,” he says, and fuck. He does. “I’m – working on it.”

She shouldn’t be here right now, hugging him and giving him advice and making him feel like everything might be okay. She’s too good for him.

“Good,” she says, smiling a bit, and it’s nice to see her smiling in his presence. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get that again.

She really was his best friend, too.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, and it’ll never be enough. “I’m so sorry. I failed you, babe. You deserve so much. You deserve the world, yeah? And I couldn’t give you a damn thing.”

“You gave me more than you’ll ever know, Zayn,” she says, giving him a sad smile. She presses a kiss to his cheek, pulling away, bidding him a goodbye. Within moments, she’s gone.

He slides down the door, pulling his knees to his chest, feeling a weight off his shoulders and a heaviness in his heart. He sits there for a long while, heaving breaths, counting to ten. Thinks of blue eyes and doesn’t feel bitterness or regret. Thinks of blue eyes and knows things are going to be better for the both of them now, better than they ever could be together. Zayn counts to ten and tries to remind himself he’s not an onlooker, he’s not a casual observer of his own life, he’s the leading man and things are in his control.

Zayn eventually passes out, sitting there on the floor in his front hall, thinking that things are not always quite as broken and irreparable as they first seem.


	2. Chapter 2

Liam wants to see Zayn so bad he can’t think straight. He can’t think of doing anything else, really, and there's nothing anymore to convince him he shouldn't.

He returns to London, meticulously rehearsing what he wants to say, and even after a few panicked calls to his mother and Andy and Ruth, he still ends up shaking the entire drive over to Zayn’s. He probably shouldn’t be acting like the world’s about to fall apart at any minute, but that’s just it, isn’t it? Nothing has mattered this much before. He’s spent time clearing his mind, sent dozens of unanswered texts, reviewed years worth of pining and misinterpreted conversations and derailed answers to questions. He’s gone over everything, he’s cried to his mum on the phone, he’s been chastised by Zayn’s best friend for being so daft all this time. And the only thing Liam can really do, after it all, is try to explain to Zayn what he thinks been going on between the two of them.

Liam knows he’s not easy to love. He’s somewhat exhausting at times, and his emotional outbursts are more than a little unnerving to witness, and he needs too much affirmation. Zayn knows the ugliest parts of him, though. And if Zayn wants to try – if Zayn’s _considered_. Liam will have to take that shot.

It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Liam’s biggest fear, maybe, is that he doesn’t want to fail Zayn again like he did on his wedding day – running out on him out of pure cowardice, pure fear and shame and guilt, shaking with the realization that Zayn wanted him. Zayn – he loved him. Liam knows that now. It makes sense, he thinks, when he puts all of the pieces together. That’s what this was all along. It wasn’t nonsensical delusions Liam built up in his brain and ignored for the sake of his own sanity. It was real. It was always real. They just never put a name to it.

It’s not a long drive from his place to Zayn’s, though he hasn’t taken it in quite a while. Liam somehow accomplishes the feat of getting his hands steady and head cleared by the time he makes it to the front step.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, chewing at his bottom lip as he stares at the door. He knocks three times. He tries not to think.

He waits. He waits for so long that he thinks Zayn must not be home, even if Danny and Shahid both already assured him he would be. But Liam can’t will himself to move. He keeps waiting.

He’s trying to swallow down the anxiety building up inside of him. He’s trying and he’s sort of forgetting how to keep his breathing steady, and he’s wearing Zayn’s sweater, and it hasn’t smelt like him in months, years, probably, but it’s all so fucking much at once. When the door opens, Liam sucks in a breath and holds it.

Liam’s completely floored, even after all of these years. His fists tighten in his pockets.

Zayn’s hair is soft against his forehead, and he looks well-rested. A worn, dark t-shirt stretches across his shoulders and Liam doesn’t know if he can open his mouth anymore, doesn’t think he can say anything at all. Zayn looks at Liam like he’s a ghost, jaw dropping a bit and visibly staggering back a step.

It hurts him, a little. But it’s Zayn.

All he’s ever wanted.

They stand there in silence for a moment, Liam trying to figure out what to do. He takes a shaky breath, before: “Hi.”

Zayn looks stunned, blinking at him. Liam’s never seen him so thrown off guard before, really. Zayn usually takes everything with such grace. A shrug of shoulders, a smirk, an _‘oh, hey, how’re you?’_

This isn’t like that.

“Um,” is all Zayn manages, several beats too late. He’s looking at Liam like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

A few months ago Liam probably wouldn’t have consciously noticed these kinds of things, the small movements and hesitance and the way Zayn’s eyes have become so guarded in a matter of seconds. It makes something uncomfortably twist in his stomach, almost makes him want to leave, because it doesn’t look like Zayn wants him here at all.

Liam smiles nervously anyways. He tries to ease it out with, “Yeah, I know it’s –“

“I,” Zayn interrupts suddenly, and Liam stops.

Zayn closes his eyes, and doesn’t continue for a few long moments. Liam tries to keep his composure. He fists his hands at his sides and watches Zayn’s face do a million incomprehensible things. Liam starts to open his mouth, but then Zayn’s speaking again.

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now.”

Liam’s stomach drops. It’s like he can physically feel it sink, and he winces visibly.

He starts, “I – If you want me to leave, I will, but I came here to just - to talk to you. And I need, I think we both need, to – “

“Please, don’t,” Zayn says immediately, biting his lip, looking _so_ torn apart. Liam practically aches for him. “I really can’t, not right now, yeah?“

“Just hear me out,” Liam interrupts, trying not to plead. Zayn is pretty determinedly avoiding his gaze. Liam wonders what he must be thinking right now, all the horrible things that don’t mean anything. He tries to put himself in his place. He says, “This is really important, Zayn. I really need you to just listen to me, okay? Will you let me, please?”

Zayn opens his eyes then, dark eyelashes blinking up at him. He’s still frowning, looking painfully unsure. Looking absolutely torn about what to do. It kills Liam.

He’s done this to him.

After another few moments, Zayn sighs in what appears to be a sign of resignation, stepping aside.

Liam takes it as a win, for now.

He shuts the door carefully behind him, following Zayn as he moves wordlessly into the living room. He folds himself up in what Liam knows is his favourite recliner and mutes the television. He picks at a loose thread on the material of the chair, looking small and sad. Liam wants nothing more than to take him in his arms and kiss him. He aches with it. He aches for him, all over again.

Zayn looks so nervous, and Liam’s rarely seen Zayn this way before, so guarded. His hands are shaking too, just like Liam’s. It’s so sad, Liam thinks, that they’ve done this to one another.

More than anything, Liam just wants Zayn happy.

“How have you been, Zayn?” Liam says suddenly, feeling horribly daft not a second after.

Zayn swallows, not looking up. “I’m fine.”

Liam sighs, a little. He tries to think about why he came here today. He tries to remind himself of all the things Zayn doesn’t understand yet.

Liam starts speaking again, “I – I have a lot to say. And um, I hope you’d be willing to listen to me. Even though – even though I don’t really deserve it.” He tries to steady his voice, but he feels it wavering, embarrassingly enough.

Zayn looks up, then. His eyes are wide and doe-like and they are Liam’s absolute favourite thing in the world.

“Okay,” Zayn allows, so Liam continues.

“There’s a lot I had to work out, before this,” Liam says, shaking his head a bit. “Before coming here, I mean. Stuff I had to work out with me, like – myself. I had to sort out my thoughts. I had to get things – I had to make sense of it all, yeah? Which is why I – I left, um, when I did. It was kind of dumb of me to run out like that but I couldn’t handle it right then.”

Zayn shakes his head the tiniest bit, still frowning.

Liam’s trying to say the things that matter, nowadays. He continues, “Zayn, I - I shouldn’t have left you that day. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve explained it to you so you wouldn’t be sitting here right now looking so –,” he breaks off, sighing. “I just. I’m just not as strong as I think I am, sometimes, I guess. I think I’ve got a hold on things even when I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Zayn furrows his brow. “What’re you sorry about?”

Everything, he wants to say. Liam’s sorry for a million things and they’re all weighing on him so heavily, he’s practically drowning in the guilt. He’s sorry that Zayn’s so sad and it’s all his fault, and how they let themselves do this to each other, and how Liam was stupid enough not to see it written all over Zayn’s face before like he can right now.

Zayn loves him, too. And Liam loves him more than he can really cope with in a normal way, or at least in the ways he’s done before, with other people.

This is nothing like anything with other people.

“Can you come here, please?” Liam says suddenly, ignoring Zayn’s question. This isn’t what he’s rehearsed, but he is aching for him right now. He really shouldn’t, because the proximity was never healthy for his sanity, but he pats the spot on the couch next to him anyway. “I need to say this and I need you to just – come here.”

Zayn looks wary, but obliges for some reason, his slender frame maneuvering around the room in his cat-like ways. He sits carefully down next to Liam, a stark contrast to the lazy way Liam’s used to: their thighs overlapping and legs tangled and head on Liam’s shoulder. Right now, Zayn keeps enough space between them that someone else could easily squeeze in between.

Zayn’s hands are still shaking, Liam notices, and it feels so strange to be so close to him yet feel so far apart. It feels like before, he thinks. Before the day of the wedding, when everything was still weird, with Zayn so close and distant all of the time, like they’re falling apart instead of together. It feels like the worst thing in the world. It’s killing Liam, how much Zayn doesn’t know. How much he doesn’t understand.

Liam sighs, letting a moment of silence take over them before he shakes his head. He meets Zayn’s eyes, which are wide and beautiful and confused. He’s working his bottom lip in his mouth and Liam needs to focus on his words, needs to say it all right now. Zayn deserves the truth. It sets you free, or whatever. Liam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

He starts, holding Zayn’s gaze: “I just – I don’t want to look back at – at all of this, and know I missed out because I was a coward and tucked my tail and ran because it all seemed too good to be true, yeah? I wanna look back and know that I was scared, but I did it anyway, and it was the best decision of my life.”

Liam’s talking really quickly but he hopes he’s making sense. He hopes Zayn is understanding.

“Liam,” Zayn says, and he’s digging his nails into his own knee, and there’s a shift in the room. Nothing actually changes, really, but Zayn’s eyes look much more significant when they look at him. Like he’s starting to realise, maybe.

He’s still kind of shaking because this is _Zayn_ , and he’s laying it out for him, and he’s trying to say the things that matter.

"I'm sorry, yeah? I need you to know that before you understand anything else, alright?" Liam says, and holds his gaze.

“Liam,” Zayn says again, but it sounds like a plea, now. Liam nearly cracks. He nearly stops it all and kisses him, but he doesn’t. He works his hand into a fist and knocks it against his knee a few times.

“You haven’t made this very easy for me,” Liam says, smiling a bit despite himself. “Ignoring my calls and all. But I suppose I’ve made a bit of a mess of it, too, haven’t I?”

“What are you saying?” Zayn demands suddenly. “You’re – confusing me. You’re making me think you – “

“I’m in love with you,” Liam blurts. His head is screaming and it’s so embarrassing, actually, because this wasn’t exactly how this was supposed to go. “I’ve wanted you for the _longest time,_ Zayn, you have no idea. I just couldn’t say it. I was so scared. I’m still so scared.”

Zayn’s mouth drops, the slightest bit, blinking rapidly before clicking it shut. He breaks eye contact, shifting his eyes to the floor. He almost looks mad. His lips press into a hard line, and his eyebrows narrow, and he’s shaking his head. It’s a little terrifying, with Zayn breathing all shallow like that.

The world doesn’t stop spinning. Their heartbeats don’t sync up in that moment and maybe it isn’t the most romantic thing, and maybe Liam should’ve prepared something a little more heartfelt and less of a halfway hysterical admission of his undying love, but it doesn’t stop this from feeling huge and important and earth-shattering. Just sitting next to Zayn on a couch when he’s wearing Zayn’s sweater, wondering if he noticed, and it’s not really that big of a deal, but at the same time, it completely and entirely is.

“Are you – you’re serious?” Zayn says, breathing hard as he blinks up at Liam. He runs a hand through his hair, grabbing at it momentarily. “You’re, like, completely serious right now?”

“I – ,” he starts, and stops. Liam wants to kiss him and kiss him until he _knows_ , but he bites his lip hard instead. “I want you. I love you. Is that – is that okay?”

“Jesus,” Zayn says, and huffs out a dry laugh. “ _Is that –_ honestly, Liam? After all this mess?”

He frowns then, realizing he might’ve made a mistake. Realizing that maybe Zayn thinks he’s made a mistake himself. “I – I’m sorry,” he tells him. “I mean, it’s – I can go now, if you like.”

“ _No_ ,” he insists, a hand grasping at Liam’s leg. They both jump a little at the touch, but neither moves away from it. “Don’t – just. Just give me a second, will you. Trying to catch up, here.”

“Okay,” Liam complies, and leans back against the couch a bit. He had days, even weeks to wrap his head around it all. It’s only fair.

Zayn moves his hand to run it through his hair again and look to the television set. His eyes are blank though, like he’s just daydreaming and not really paying attention. Liam wonders what he’s been doing, lately. He hopes he’s been with all his friends and his family more often. He hopes the people in his life came through for him even when Liam was miserably failing.

Liam’s taking in the living room and thinking that it looks somehow different than what he remembers. Zayn’s pretty messy, but it all seems quite taken care of – his DVDs lined in the case beside the TV set, books placed neatly in the shelves. There isn’t any of her stuff left around anymore, either, like Liam remembers seeing when he’d visited before; all purses and hair pieces and the like spread out on the coffee table and the kitchen counter.

It’s weird to think how much has changed in such a small amount of time. How one day, years ago now, he’d convinced himself that Zayn had been distancing himself from Liam for a much different reason – maybe Liam’s hidden emotions had been showing through or things had gone weird like friendships sometimes do or maybe Liam had just been annoying, really – and then the next day he had been sure, so sure, that Zayn needed to marry this lovely girl and have a lovely life without him, and the day after that, everything he’d known fell apart. And now, this. And now Liam’s looking at the man he loves and knowing things are not hopeless. Hoping, praying that things are not hopeless.

“How long?” Zayn asks suddenly, his hands clasped together between his knees, but he won’t look at Liam.

Liam clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter. He wracks his brain for an answer, not having the most exact grasp of time. “Um, maybe like. Since Danielle, or after that? It’s kind of weird, figuring out exactly when it all happened. But, y’know, a while.”

Zayn nods his head, taking this in, and Liam falls silent again.

Liam wonders if he’s done any art lately. That used to be his favourite thing, when Zayn would let him watch as he worked. Marveling as Zayn stained a page with his dark, inky marks, mouth agape when Zayn stretched waves of paint across a canvas, eyes twinkling when Zayn sketched one of his million doodles of Liam. His favourite thing. He misses it so much, and it’s been so long.

When Liam looks at Zayn, he’s blinking a lot and chewing on his lip in deep thought, like he’s working through it all. Liam's trying not to watch him so closely but it’s kind of hard, when all he wants to do is drink him in endlessly. He missed appreciating the dark swoop of Zayn's eyelashes over his cheekbones, the rugged scruff on his jaw, the careful angle of his nose. Even for all the paintings and sculptures Liam’s ever seen, Zayn’s always been his favourite work of art.

Zayn takes a breath and says, “You’re serious, though? Like, you’re sure?”

His mind echoes with the conversation he’d had with his father. Is he worth it? Is he?

Months of this. _Years_ of this. And nothing’s ever changed.

It’s not even a question.

Liam tells him, “I’m scared out of my bloody mind, Zayn, but I’m sure.” He pauses, trying to slow down a bit. “Are you – are you still? Are things still that way for you?”

Zayn closes his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He’s still shaking. “I practically left my fiancée at the altar over you, Liam.”

He laughs before he can think. Zayn winces a little bit, but just shakes his head as Liam says, “Suppose you did, then. Wanna explain that one?”

He opens his eyes to glare at Liam. “Not exactly.”

Liam nods, clearing his throat. “Right. I understand.”

They both turn their eyes to the floor, then. Liam wants to reach out and touch him, wants to answer that pull that aches inside of him. He doesn’t. He tries to steady his breathing and not feel everything he’s ever felt for this boy all at once, but that’s too hard, so he just works on the breathing thing.

“This doesn’t make any sense, really, you know,” Zayn tells him, shaking his head a bit.

“I know,” Liam says.

“You weren’t supposed to want me back,” Zayn says then, and that hurts, but he understands.

“I know,” Liam says. “I really wasn’t supposed to want you at all, but I did it anyway. Didn’t have much choice, I don’t think.” Zayn smiles, the tiniest bit. It’s beautiful. “You’re a trap, Malik. You lured me in, over the years. I had no idea what I was doing. Don’t think it really settled with me until I fucking cried like a baby after the movie premiere. God, it was horrible.”

“The movie premiere?” Zayn says, looking up at him like he doesn’t even remember. Liam almost laughs, but Zayn just keeps staring, clearly having no idea of what he’s talking about.

“Our movie premiere, years ago. That was the day you – the day we all found out you were engaged,” Liam reminds him. “’Cause of the ring and all.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, realization drawing on his features. “Shit. Feels like a fucking century ago.”

“Yeah – it. I just,” Liam starts. “I need to apologise, though. I came here to apologise and I’m sorry for leaving you when I did, and there’s no excuse, really, but I just needed – I needed to figure it all out. I needed it to make sense before I did something stupid.”

Zayn nods, but it looks a little lost, like he doesn’t really know what’s going on quite yet. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?” Liam asks, frowning.

Zayn says, “Yeah. ‘M all good.”

Liam can tell something is off, but he’s not sure if it’s just this situation, or if he’s done something wrong. He still feels like there are some gaps that haven’t been met and there’s more to this conversation, really, but he’s sort of said what he wanted to say. Zayn is being carefully quiet, though, staring at the carpet and frowning.

He was never really sure what was going to come out of this.

“Is it okay, that I told you all of this?” Liam wonders aloud. He’s rubbing at his neck. “I know my timing is shit, but – “

“It’s – yeah,” Zayn says. “Yeah, mate, it’s fine.”

Liam winces, feeling painfully unsure. He wasn’t expecting a miracle but he also wasn’t expecting Zayn to look as conflicted as he does.

“You sure?” Liam says. “I don’t mean to, like, presume that’d you’d, you know – “

“No, I mean.” Zayn closes his eyes again. “Just - just give me a moment, yeah?”

Liam bites his tongue, a creeping sense of anxiety inching its way up his spine. He’s fucking this up, isn’t he? Because it’s like – Zayn doesn’t _really_ want him, at least not like he thought, at least not right now. Zayn’s just ended a four-year relationship. Zayn’s just broken up with his fiancée. This isn’t the time. This isn’t the place.

And Liam’s looking at Zayn, so painfully uncertain, and even though he’s saying it’s the same for him still, he’s not looking very happy about it. And it’s like, they love each other, yeah, but that's not all that it takes, does it?

Because sometimes two people fall in love at the wrong time. Sometimes two people who are meant to be together never find each other, just skirting around the edges of destiny, fall in love with the wrong people and miss out. Sometimes time is wasted and things don't sync up too well and nothing is ever sorted, nothing is final, everything left horribly unfinished and unmended.

So Liam starts panicking, the slightest bit. He’s trying not to show it, he’s trying to keep calm and calculated, he’s trying to bore his eyes into the muted television and find something worth paying attention to, but the man he loves is sitting next to him and making Liam feel painfully unsure, making Liam feel for the thousandth time that he’s fucked things up.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Liam says suddenly. “I know it’s all so much at once, and you’ve been dealing with a lot, and this would’ve gone better some other way, maybe, but I – I didn’t know what to do, and – I was lost. I spent so long going absolutely mental over all of this and I had to come and tell you, and it doesn’t – it doesn’t have to mean everything’s fine now, because it isn’t. But I needed you to know the truth.”

“Liam,” Zayn says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says, shaking his head and not really wanting to cry right now. He’s always been a shit crier, always buries his face in his hands pathetically and turns all red. “I want you and I’ve been nothing but sorry for it.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, and his fingers are suddenly caressing the side of Liam’s face, his chin in Zayn’s palm. Liam softens immediately, meeting Zayn’s wide, beautiful eyes. “C’mere.”

He’s pulled into a hug, his nose finding the warmth of Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s arms wrapped around his middle. He breathes.

"I love you, Zayn," Liam says, holding him close. He missed this more than anything, it feels like a part of him is settling back into place, it feels like that first gasp of breath after emerging from the water.

"Liam," Zayn says again, almost like a warning, nearly a plea. It hurts hearing him say his name like that.

Liam squeezes his eyes shut and says, "I know it doesn't make sense to you right now, but this is - it's the only thing that's ever made any sense to me."

“Fuck,” Zayn says, lips at the side of his face. “I never thought.”

“Me either,” Liam says. “Not in a million years.”

Zayn moves from him, then. Liam sinks under the water and holds his breath, counts the seconds.

Liam tells him, “Just – tell me what you want, yeah? I can go, or like – if you need time, I can do time. You shouldn't, like - I'm not here to do anything but let you know, okay? I just needed you to know."

Zayn doesn't speak. He blinks a few times as he nearly gapes at Liam, like before in the doorway, except now he looks completely floored.

Liam starts again, “I’m sorry, I know I’m - “

“I want you,” Zayn says, suddenly. “Yeah?”

Liam thinks he’s gonna cry all over again. He nods quite seriously, biting his lip, hard. “Yeah,” he says. He’s still shaking. His body feels like it’s vibrating, something humming underneath his skin. He feels this pull and he can’t help but to pull Zayn in again, feel him fall into that spot between his shoulder and neck, feel everything inside of Liam click into place.

This is it. This is where he’s been trying to get his whole life, this is the place that’s always felt like home, but he couldn’t explain why.

“Do you want to try at this?” Liam asks, lips at Zayn’s ear. “’Cause it’s all I want, Zayn.”

“Yeah,” he says to his neck. His cold nose grazes the skin there gently and Liam shivers a little, but doesn't move. Liam finds himself sinking into the embrace deeper and deeper, feels Zayn's breath on his neck and fingers against his shoulder, gently pressing. Liam closes his eyes and breathes soundly, easily, just breathes him in.

“Good,” Liam says, wholeheartedly content, and Zayn laughs a bit, and his body feels warm and he laughs, too.

"Liam?" Zayn asks softly, moving just a bit to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder, his arms still around his torso.

"Yeah, babe?" He says, moving lips against the shell of Zayn's ear. Liam's finding himself thinking in song lyrics, thinking in lyrics of things he's written, in things he's sung on stage hundreds of times. It's a little embarrassing, actually, but there was a reason he'd felt that pull in his heart. There was a reason he'd catch Zayn's eyes during his part in the song and they'd smile, or break eye contact, or turn the other way.

“Um,” Zayn says. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Liam says, leaning back as Zayn’s head raises from his shoulder. Their eyes catch and his arms are still at Zayn’s waist. “I actually have one thing I really, really want to do.”

Zayn’s lip quirks up a bit, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he says, and their foreheads fall together. He hears Zayn’s breath catch and he smirks. “I’d say we could go on a – a proper date? Or summat.”

Zayn pulls apart then, blinking. “Date?”

Lim shrugs, trying for nonchalant but missing by a mile. “I mean, only if you want to.”

Zayn's face switches between twelve different emotions within five seconds.

"Yeah - yeah,” he says, and then he's smiling so hard and it's actually incredible, seeing him like this, and knowing Liam is the reason for it all, and knowing everything. ”I mean, sure, like - I’d be down.”

“Brilliant,” Liam says, and he knows he’s positively beaming, too. He wants to do everything right. “’Cause like, I’ve got some ideas and I’d like to – well, I’d really like to try for something proper, yeah?”

“Sounds alright,” Zayn says, and it’s so strange because Liam’s always known Zayn to be stupidly supportive of him, and it was always something he defined their friendship by before, that endless support. Liam looked to Zayn for years when he sought out affirmation or understanding or consolation, and he’d never known anyone else that so readily gave it to him, like it was second nature for Zayn to reassure Liam anytime his mind was plagued with doubts. It was somehow the best thing in the world even still, Zayn’s approval or agreement, and Liam never doubted for a second that Zayn completely and entirely connected with him, even before he knew all he knows know.

It’s strange how simple it is, actually, how the person who was always so easy for Liam to be around, became the person he fell in love with, became the person who loved him back without him even knowing, became someone who’s in front of him right now and wanting the same things, has always wanted the same things. They’ve always been on the same page, the two of them, they were just so burdened and stifled by the fear and uncertainty and guilt that they couldn’t have any of it.

Because even right now, Liam’s sitting here and knowing that Zayn’s heart rate kicks up, too, when their eyes meet, and knowing that their smiles mean the same thing and they can just hold each other, in this moment, and breathe and feel what it’s like to have exactly what you want right here with you. What it’s like to know that tomorrow and every day after that is going to be different, finally, and that they get to have this completely and entirely, with no gaping holes of doubt or anxiety interfering with anything anymore. Liam knows that they can spend hours and hours unfolding their feelings for each other and they will all be a perfect reflection of each other, an interwoven web of desire that burned through them over the years and left them a little lost more days than not, but they don’t have to, not right now, at least.

And it’s refreshing, for once, to hold onto Zayn and know that this feeling isn’t going to exist anymore in these small, fleeting moments, know that this feeling is going to become much more stable, much more comfortable, much more like the way they’ve longed to be around each other for years now.

And he’s never felt so goddamn happy in his life.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It finally settles in later that night, long after Liam unattached his limbs from Zayn’s and left with a regretful kiss to his forehead, and Zayn is finding that he can’t really deal with these thoughts alone. Something huge is happening.

His thoughts are scattered and he’s a little shell-shocked. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands there, half-daydreaming, for the longest time, because Liam was just here and said so many impossible things and they have a date tomorrow. He can hardly think.

Zayn is trying to steady himself, laying down on his bed. He tries to breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Something huge is happening and Zayn doesn’t know quite everything, not nearly, but Liam told him enough, enough for him to know that he’s been out of his mind clueless for ages now. He doesn’t know how he spent this much time, the _entire_ time, completely oblivious. He’s losing it.

It isn’t too much longer before he calls Louis.

“‘S not weird, is it?” Zayn says, doodling distractedly in his sketchbook. He needs someone to talk him down from this, to talk him _into_ this, because it feels like he’s hardly standing on solid ground, and it all feels so confusing and inexplicable and frightening.

He has no idea what he’s doing. Like, not a single clue.

Zayn’s phone keeps buzzing mid-call because Liam is sending him stupid emojis every two minutes and he keeps laughing. Somehow, this strange stirring in his stomach is causing him to feel absurdly delighted. It’s like nothing he’s ever known.

“Mate, we all knew this was going to happen eventually,” Louis says, and Zayn’s phone buzzes to let him know that Liam’s sent another wordless text.

Zayn smiles hard and puts the phone back up to his ear, refocusing on what Louis had just said. “Sorry?”

Louis says, “I mean, maybe not quite this way, but we did all sort of think for a while there that you two shagged and tried to keep it from us.”

“Um,” Zayn says, face going heated as he mouths the end of his pen. “No, uh - didn’t. We. Definitely didn’t happen.”

Louis continues, “Surprised he didn’t just blow you on that fuckin’ couch of yours, honestly. You guys have been holding out for how long now?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, distractedly. His head is kind of pounding because this is what he wants, this is what he’s always wanted, and no one’s ever really asked him before, _what do you want, Zayn?_ but now he’s just kind of getting it, no questions asked.

“Niall said he said some pretty embarrassing things about you when he was drunk in America,” Louis continues. “Besides the exhaustive details of his hopeless pining, it included some explicit fantasies of the sexual nature. Poor Niall.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, and this is hard enough for him to deal with as is, but the idea of - of _Liam_ thinking about the two of them, and it’s like, okay, it seems obvious, but it’s just never - the idea has hardly settled that he even -

“But of course, our Liam, has got to do things all proper,” Louis says, and Zayn can practically envision the fondness in his eye roll that always accompanies any phrase like ‘our Liam.’

“Yeah,” Zayn says again, clearing his throat and dragging his pen lazily across his sketchbook.

“It is sort of interesting to have some drama between all of us again,” Louis says. “Almost like before, having to take care of you boys through your heartbreak and all that. ‘Cept it’s somehow weirder this go ‘round.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, smiling a bit, but doesn’t say anything.

“You good?” Louis asks after a moment.

“Hm?” Zayn says, then shakes his head a bit. “I mean - yeah, ‘course, it’s just - crazy, like.”

“It is,” Louis agrees. “But just ‘cause it’s crazy doesn’t mean you don’t absolutely deserve it, yeah? You know that, right?”

Zayn just hums in response, chewing on his ink pen cap again.

“You deserve to be happy,” Louis tells him. “You deserve a million blow jobs from Liam Payne, for the rest of your goddamn life. You deserve him endlessly fawning over you and bragging about your achievements like he’s your fucking trophy wife. You deserve this, Zayn. I can’t let you ruin it by thinking you don’t.”

Somehow, Louis has always been able to read him like a book. He can’t help that he’s smiling when he says, “Thanks, Lou.”

“No need to thank me,” Louis says. “I mean, now that you mention it, do thank me - I _was_ the person that helped you through a breakdown on your intended wedding day and ultimately kept you from making the biggest mistake of your life. So your gratitude is not only welcomed but, of course, required.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to roll his eyes, leaning back on his bed with an exhaustive sigh. “Yeah, whatev, mate.”

The next morning, Zayn receives a text telling him to dress nice, which honestly does nothing to help the nerves twitching in his fingertips. He keeps sending panicked texts to Jawaad, and Louis, and Danny, and all he gets in reply is a string of thumbs up emojis, a curt ‘ _shut it, Malik. Relax_ ,’ and a ‘ _broooo u have nothing to worry abt, promise :) !,’_ respectively.

Zayn has always been a relatively relaxed person, borderline lazy and seemingly unambitious at times, but nothing has ever really mattered quite as much as this before. It’s weighing on all his thoughts uncomfortably and his palms are sweating. He hasn’t felt these kind of nerves since he’d accompanied four new, but brilliant boys on stage for the first time at the X-Factor, tried on the life of a pop star before he actually got to live it.

He can’t really think straight with his thoughts so heavy and his mind jumping from one idea to the other at an alarming pace – _how does he like my hair? Do I care how he likes my hair? Does he even care? What am I doing?_ – and it’s really, really, unlike him, and it’s making him even more anxious at this realization. What is he actually doing? It’s _Liam_.

And okay, it’s Liam. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, and always told himself he’d never have. And now, after so many years of waiting, it’s somehow being presented to him in the shiniest wrapping paper, adorned with a neat little bow on top. At least that’s how he feels when he opens the door to see Liam, eyes wide and imploring, with a nervous smile on his face.

Zayn, admittedly, goes a little slack-jawed at the sight. Liam is in a simple charcoal suit, crisp white shirt underneath with a solid black tie. He might’ve seen him wear it before, for all the events they’d done together before, and maybe he’s even wrapped his arm around the back of it as they posed for pictures, or answered interview questions, or accepted an award. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because the first thing he can think to say is:

“You look _incredible_.”

He watches the blush paint Liam’s face and it’s nothing shy of the complete and entire truth. Liam scratches at the back of his head, staring down at his shoes as he lets out a small laugh.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and Zayn is still a little slack-jawed, and mostly in awe, and feeling totally stupid in his dumb black dress shirt and dumb black pants and these dumb shoes, all of which he’s probably worn four-thousand times, and Liam probably notices this, and Zayn feels impossibly daft.

“Kinda showed me up, Li,” he says, and he tries to smile, but his hands are shaking and it’s really fucking distracting. “I think I might need to change.”

“No,” Liam says immediately, brows furrowing, and he’s still standing in Zayn’s doorway. “You look perfect.”

 _God_ , Zayn thinks loudly. He’s suddenly hearing an echo of every time he’s heard a similar compliment from Liam’s mouth, and it’s all alarmingly falling into place. He’s not sure how he missed it when it’s so stunningly apparent in the way Liam’s eyes are fucking shining and he’s got that blush on his cheeks, how he lets these compliments fall from his lips so freely like it’s the only thing he can manage.

He’s just blinking at him, not even really able to respond, but Liam is staring right back, and Zayn is so glad that there’s a name to this magnetism he thought he’d imagined over the years. It’s positively deafening, the silence, the pull of their energies and the complete and utter infatuation that’s overtaken them both.

“Zayn,” Liam says, softly, warningly. He steps into Zayn’s door, because Zayn had been too in shock to invite him inside, and Zayn doesn’t move as Liam draws closer to him. “I – I need.”

He’ll give him anything he needs, anything at all, say the word and it’s his.

That’s how fucked Zayn is, at this point.

Liam is suddenly so close, painfully close, touching his waist and kicking Zayn’s heart rate up at an overwhelming pace. His hands are still fucking shaking and he can’t really think anything at all anymore because Liam is _so close_ and it’s literally everything he’s ever wanted.

“Can I - ?” Liam asks, nose brushing Zayn’s in the way he used to dream about, used to re-imagine over and over again so that he could vividly picture the way Liam would look all out of focus and alarmingly in his space.

Except he doesn’t really have to picture it anymore, for how crystal clear this is right now, and he’s trying to photocopy it in his mind as it’s happening so he’ll never be able to forget.

“ _Please_ ,” is what Zayn ends up saying, more of a whimper than anything, and it’s so pathetic but it doesn’t matter because Liam is kissing him and it’s literally everything he’s _ever wanted_.

Liam makes a solid noise when their lips press and it’s a firm kiss, an insistent one, like he’s trying to say something with it, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do with his shaking hands but he ignores them, instead focusing on how perfect this is, how Liam’s lips are pretty much everything he ever dreamt they’d be and Zayn is kissing them, Zayn is allowed this, this feeling is his to keep.

Liam breaks after a moment, maybe for air, but his eyes don’t even open before he’s kissing Zayn even harder, pressing his body even closer. Zayn’s pathetically surrendered to this. It’s like everything has fallen to a hush and the only sound in the world is the two of them breathing, and Zayn’s not sure when he started thinking such hugely pressing thoughts, but here they are.

Zayn pulls apart when he’s short of breath and admittedly a little dizzy at the unexpected nature of the kiss, and maybe just because of Liam in general. Liam blinks his eyes open and they’re just as wide and imploring as they had been when he’d first opened the door, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do, so he laughs.

“What?” Liam asks, but he’s smiling, hand at his waist still.

“We’ve got a date to get to, you know,” he reminds him, half-giggling.

Liam smiles wider. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

He kisses Zayn once on the forehead, taking his hand swiftly before they step through the door.

Zayn wishes he could say this is the easiest thing he’s ever done, that this is natural and they fall into step with each other immediately. It isn’t really like that, at least not at first. Zayn doesn’t really think it can be that way, for all that’s happened. They've spent a lot of time in their own heads, in their own lives, not knowing how each of them were impacting the other. It's so much to wrap Zayn's head around.

They make it to the car and Liam makes a show of opening the door for him. Zayn openly laughs, fondness creasing his eyes and joy bubbling in his throat. Liam laughs too, a gentle hand on his back as Zayn slides into the car.

The driver takes off as soon as they've settled in, apparently already knowing where they're headed to for the evening. Zayn can't help but worry his bottom lip between his teeth. He's not really sure what the protocol is here. He doesn't know if he should make small talk or wait for Liam to say something or move closer since they've kept a good distance between where they're each sitting.

He's trying not to think so hard, pulling his eyes from the window just to find Liam looking right at him. It's like a part of his brain short circuits for a second. Zayn's never felt anything like what he feels when Liam looks at him like that.

He must look off with his rapidly blinking eyes and wired nerves and clenched jaw, because Liam reaches over, covering Zayn's hand with his own where it lay on the seat between them.

"Hey," Liam says softly. He's smiling the tiniest bit, but his eyes read just as nervous as Zayn feels. "You okay?"

It's right then that Zayn remembers that he's not alone in this, not anymore. He never was, really, but now he - now both of them know. They understand. They feel all the same things, they always have, and it's all just as much of a shock to Liam as it is for Zayn.

He lets out a breath, eyes falling shut for just a moment. When he blinks them open, meeting Liam's inquisitive brown eyes, he finds himself smiling.

"Yeah," Zayn says, finding his voice doesn't waver like he'd expected. He smiles bigger. "Definitely."

Liam brightens. It's his favourite thing in the world, watching Liam's face entirely evolve into that expression of delight, seeing the light in his eyes. Zayn bites on his tongue to keep from smiling even harder.

He takes Liam's hand, turning his palm to interlock their fingers, nearly aching in how familiar it feels. Liam squeezes it once, and Zayn's still kind of shaking, but he feels more grounded, now.

It’s quiet for a moment, Zayn thinking about what it’s like to hold Liam’s hand, how it’s something he’s done for years, maybe. It’s insane how a point of their bodies connecting, linking them to each other, is driving Zayn this mad.

When Zayn’s still smiling and deep in thought, Liam asks, “Remember when I kissed you?”

“You mean just now?” Zayn asks, sort of laughing as he turns to him.

“No,” Liam says, shaking his head. “I mean, before.”

Zayn clears his throat, nodding his head a bit as he fixes his eyes on their interlocked hands. He remembers.

It was the night in Los Angeles, with all the drinks in that one club with the boys and somehow they ended up in a car together, separating from the others and giggling for hours, and soon enough they were in Zayn’s hotel room, in the bathroom. It was so dark but Zayn remembers the edges of Liam, his dark eyes and heavy breathing, and they were drunk mostly, but not as drunk as they’d convinced themselves of the day after.

“Yeah,” he says, somehow feeling on-edge from the memory of a time when things were so weird and off-kilter between them, when everything was still a question.

“I used to think about that every night,” Liam tells him, the edges of his lips curving down. “Every single night, before falling asleep, you know. I’d think of what it was like to kiss you. And before that, I used think of when you kissed me.”

Zayn’s cheeks burn at the memory of being seventeen and nursing his newfound crush on this boy. Early on, it was nothing but finding himself at a loss for words and blushing when he’d bump into him accidentally and finding any excuse to be near him, around him, half-ways on top of him on the couch, even when there’d been plenty of room. Sharing earbuds as they sat up for hours and talked about music, sharing clothes and reveling in the way his sweaters always smelled like him when he’d find them the next day, sharing smiles and inside jokes and secrets as he learned this boy inside and out, falling in love in these soft, quiet moments.

The moment that Zayn had kissed Liam had been, for a long while, at the very top of his most embarrassing moments ever. The only redeeming bit of the incident was his recovery, gracefully playing it off. They really haven’t talked about it since, but he’d replayed it in his own mind so often that he’d sometimes convinced himself it was a distant sort of daydream. At the time, he’d been positive he’d never feel anything like that again in his life.

“Yeah?” he says, a bit too late, for lack of anything else to say. The idea that Liam used to hang himself up on the same things Zayn did is taking a little bit of getting used to. Zayn had felt, for the longest time, that his emotions were so isolated. He’d really believed Liam didn’t really care about it (if anything, felt a little weirded out) and never even thought about it again. He’s not sure how he got it all so wrong.

“Yeah,” Liam confirms, nodding his head. “Except last night, though. All I could think of was that look in your eyes when I told you I loved you.”

And it feels like he’s in a daze, with these words falling from Liam’s lips and Zayn sitting here drinking them in, trying not to get drunk off of them, wondering if he should somehow escape the car for a moment and get some fresh air before he loses himself in his words like he’s done a time or two before.

Zayn tries not to blush when he looks down at their entwined hands again, the way his rings peak through between Liam’s fingers. It makes his chest feel so heavy. He’s trying to quiet his mind, trying not to go over everything that’s happened between them ever, but he can’t, he’s thinking of –

 _“I love you, Zaynie,”_ in the hotel room that night when they were nineteen and Zayn was pretending to be asleep, and “ _Do you love me?”_ and all the times they caught eyes across a room, across the bus, across a stage. The blushing grins and Liam holding his hand on the airplane that first time, and several times after that, still, and watching Liam’s lips trying to form words in Urdu with a furrowed brow, and kissing him on the side of the head and wearing his clothes to bed and picking him up by the hips, wrestling with him backstage, giggling uncontrollably and making up games to annoy the other boys and feeling like he could live in those moments forever if given the chance.

It kind of makes sense, all the awkward exchanges and nervous smiles and fingers curling around each other’s waist, all the years spent not saying the things that matter, all the years spent attributing it all to friends, best friends, he’s like a brother to me. Never knowing that Zayn was as vital to Liam as Liam was to him, and how his leaving burnt a hole in Liam’s chest that he wasn’t able to see. Never knowing the sleep Liam lost, the longing he felt, the disappointment and rejection and hopelessness that plagued his thoughts, too.

It’s enough to make him lose it right then and there, the realization of everything, of what they’ve done to each other and to themselves and their complete and utter _foolishness_.

“We’ve been, like, really stupid,” Zayn says suddenly, looking up at Liam.

Liam shrugs easily, seeming nonplussed, and squeezes his hand with sureness. “Eh. We’re doing better now, yeah?”

Zayn can’t disagree, nodding and chewing on his bottom lip as he tries not to smile so damn hard.

The restaurant they end up in is very large and expensive and Zayn nearly rolls his eyes, because _of course_. He knew Liam would be like this. It’s somehow entirely vacated, save the employees, and it’s just dinner, honestly. It shouldn’t be such an event but it’s _Liam_ and Zayn can’t even pretend to be bothered, because he gets it. Liam is kind of ridiculous in a really wonderful way.

“Hey,” Zayn says, reaching over the table suddenly when Liam’s frowning at his menu. His heart kicks in his chest when he finds Liam’s hand, and just like that, his palm is turned to meet with his once more.

Liam looks up from his menu with wide eyes. “Is something wrong? Do you not see something you want on the menu? I can – “

“Hey,” Zayn says again, and squeezes Liam’s hand. Liam swallows and Zayn smiles at him reassuringly. “Chill.”

Liam blinks, looking down for a second. He takes a breath, seeming to center himself. “Right. Okay.”

It hits Zayn, just then, that Liam really wants this to be as normal as possible.

Zayn smiles even harder. “’S just me, Leeyum, yeah? ‘S just us. You don’t have to worry.”

Liam nods a bit to himself. “Right. Of course,” he says, then meets Zayn’s eyes. “’S just us.”

Zayn hums, squeezing Liam’s hand again and doesn’t let go as he turns his eyes to his own menu again. “I’m thinking the salmon. Haven’t had a proper cooked meal in ages.”

Liam smiles up at Zayn as if this was the most pleasant news he’d ever heard, and Zayn miserably fails at hiding his own smile.

The dinner itself, as it turns out, is a bit ridiculous and too fancy, but Zayn lets himself be wined and dined quite thoroughly. In between it all Liam keeps making really stupid, Liam-like jokes that cause Zayn to be extra thankful there are no other people to witness him nearly spitting out his wine between his giggles. It only encourages Liam further, and it’s a such a mess how Zayn can hardly stop laughing to tell the server his stupid dinner order, completely unable to contain himself. He bites down on his tongue when he looks at Liam, even though he isn’t _doing_ anything, just asking politely for a glass of water, and he has to wait until their server walks away to burst into another fit of giggles.

“I missed you, you know,” Liam says, whenever they’ve gotten themselves together, still with a hint of a smile etched on his features. “Missed being with you. Almost forgot how nice it was.”

Zayn asks, “What d’you mean?”

Liam’s staring at their hands on the table, their fingers interlocked now. “I mean, obviously I – I’m happy about, you know, this all in general. But being with you like – in itself. Being around you has always been my favourite and even before, you know, I just - we rarely got to be around each other anymore, just us. I missed it.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, because fuck, he missed Liam all the goddamn time. “Yeah, I – me too.”

Liam pauses for a moment, rubbing at his face with his free hand, before: “This is so normal, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also, like, really weird. Can I say that?”

Zayn laughs again, enchanted. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Liam looks pleased. He licks his lips, shrugging. “I don’t know. I thought this would maybe be more awkward, I guess.”

“Why?” Zayn asks, not because he doesn’t understand, but because he wants to know Liam’s thought process.

“I just thought, maybe, I don’t know,” Liam says. “I was assuming I was going to embarrass myself and kept worrying you weren’t going to really want to do this kind of thing anyway, and I felt guilty for making you go out just because I want to like, try and date you all proper like. Even though none of this is really proper to begin with. Just. I dunno.”

“Hey,” Zayn says again. “It doesn’t have to be, yeah?”

“What?” Liam asks.

“Doesn’t have to be proper,” Zayn clarifies. “It can just be like…whatever. Just what it is, y’know? It’s just us. I don’t really, like, care about the details.”

“Oh.” Liam frowns. “I’m sorry. We didn’t have to do all this, then. I just – ”

“No – I mean,” Zayn starts to correct himself. “Listen, I love that _you_ care about the details. ‘Cause it’s just like, how you are. ‘M just saying it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do whatever you want, yeah? I’m down for whatever. We can, like, go on a million of these kinda dates if you want to.”

“But do you want to?” Liam presses. “Do you want to go on dates, or just - ?”

“Yeah, I want to, really. Of course I do,” Zayn says. “I just want to be with you. And anything you wanna do, I’m cool with. Anything you don’t wanna do, that’s alright with me, too, alright?”

Liam nods, not looking too convinced.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn asserts. “Listen, I know this is all sort of mad, but I - I really do love you. So if what you’re experiencing is at all similar to me, you’ll know how weird it is to see that I feel the exact same as you right now. I want this, alright? And whatever that means, like, I’m down for it as long as you are. I’m in this. Me and you. Yeah?”

Liam stares, a little slack-jawed at Zayn. It only takes a moment before his face breaks out into a grin. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean - wow, yeah. Okay.”

Zayn giggles, shaking his head, and takes another long sip of his wine.

He’d thought earlier that he would spend the whole date losing his mind in his nerves, but it all kind of vanished when he saw Liam at his door. He hadn’t really expected to be the one talking Liam down from all this, especially since he’s had a lot longer to process it all than Zayn.

But for Zayn, really, it all clicked. It was like a missing piece was inserted that rearranged the entire shape, like clicking pieces to a rubix cube and even though it appeared to be a jumbled mess at first, one move and everything else starts falling into place. Before you know it, all sides match up. Everything makes sense.

The space between where they sit is much smaller as they pile into the car the next time.

“I love you,” Zayn tells him, feeling it press on his chest, the top of his head, the edge of his lips. It’s hard not to say, because he’s thinking it so much. He’s thinking of Liam and Liam’s right in front of him and he can say it now. It’s exhilarating.

“I love you too,” Liam says shyly, smiling at him.

And that too, is just as exhilarating.

Liam leans in and kisses him gently, thumb grazing the side of Zayn’s jaw.

“It all makes so much sense, y’know?” Zayn says when he breaks away, and he thinks he’s shaking a bit still. The nerves are long gone but he’s still so excited and energised from all that’s happening around him. All he’s ever wanted is being given to him so suddenly and he thinks he might lose his head. He wasn’t prepared for this.

A million years more and he still wouldn’t be any more prepared, he thinks.

“Yeah,” Liam says, and he’s shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to make of this either.

“We. We were _so_ stupid, but I – I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t – I. You know?” Zayn says and he’s just blabbering, he’s hardly making any sense at all, except apparently he said _something_ \- because Liam pulls Zayn forward into another kiss.

His mind immediately quietens. He feels warmth spread through his chest, feels his heart swell with the feeling of Liam. He’s so considerate of Zayn and he’s always been there and he always will be. He’s promised before, and Zayn knows now, he understands. Liam is kissing him with intent and with purpose, and he _knows_. Zayn is leaning back against the door before he can really even think and suddenly Liam’s there, his arms on his waist in the back of this car, and he kisses him again and again.

He wouldn’t change a thing about right now, this moment, the feeling of Liam’s stubble on his face and holding him so close and _god_ , he didn’t think this could exist outside his daydreams, could exist outside of the fantasy world he created while he watched his own life whir by him. He doesn’t want to be a medical student watching from the observatory, not living his life, not experiencing it, just watching from the side lines. He wants to feel it all. He wants to think and dream and laugh and remember every moment, every moment with Liam right here beside him, touching him like promises and apologies and forgiveness all at once. Because it means something, this means something, and it was never going to go away. Years and years, pushing distance between them, and it never stopped. It was never going to stop.

They can’t stop kissing, so drunk off one another, so starved of this that they hardly allow themselves a breath. Liam feels so good this close to him, and Zayn thinks this is exactly where he belongs, surrounded by the warmth of Liam and his hands and his _lips_ and fuck, jesus, his _everything_. Zayn can hardly think anything but _Liam, Liam, Liam._ His mind won’t stop the endless chant. He’s positive it slips out between kisses, because he hears a soft ‘ _Zayn, Zayn, Zayn_ ,’ in return, which makes his heart rate kick up and his grip on Liam’s hips tighten.

At one point, Liam breaks apart and asks, “Is this – is this okay?” And Zayn just kisses him again, because what a stupid question, of course, of course, _always_.

Zayn tries to somehow convey that through pulling Liam closer, and Liam makes this noise in his mouth that sends shivers down Zayn’s body. It’s all a blur of hands touching and warmth and slick tongues grazing and chills down Zayn’s skin, heat in the base of his spine. He’s never felt anything like this in his life. He thinks that he could live on the thrill of Liam alone and nothing else. He thinks that so often. He never meant to be this greedy. He wants Liam so much he can’t think. He resigned himself to the fact it was never happening and he was okay but this – this is better than okay. This is freedom, this is the answer to the questions he couldn’t ask, this is everything sealed up into this place right here.

He’s trying to focus here, and he’s trying to kiss Liam with all he has in him, because this is _important_ , this is his entire world in his hands. He’s so dramatic but, fuck. He isn’t lying.

“Liam,” he moans, and he hadn’t meant to, but Liam’s lips are at his neck and he’s clawing at Liam’s chest and everything is so overwhelming and good and achingly perfect.

“I love you,” Liam tells him, biting at his skin. Zayn moans again, embarrassingly enough, but he can’t think about it for too long because Liam is sucking at the skin, undoubtedly leaving a mark, and _fuck_.

When the car stops, they break apart, laughing a bit and feeling unhinged and high and weightless.

They hold hands all the way to the door, Zayn maybe half-running in attempt to get inside. He drops his keys twice and Liam can't stop giggling, making Zayn blush. He's so embarrassed but _so_ turned on and this is the most overwhelming experience of his life.

This is happening. This is _happening_.

"Here - here," Liam says, because Zayn's hands are fucking shaking and he can't get the key into the goddamn door.

"Fuck," Zayn says, shaking his head, and finally the door is opened. He pushes inside, hand still interlocked with Liam's, and takes the keys from Liam's other hand to toss them on the entrance table before kissing him soundly on the lips.

Liam makes a noise of approval in the back of his throat and there's a hand at the small of Zayn's waist pushing their groins closer. Zayn's head is spinning, letting himself be kissed by Liam so sincerely, letting himself fall into the rhythm they’ve set, affection and devotion in all of their movements, all of their gestures, every kiss, every brushing of eyelashes, every smile pressed to skin.

Kissing Liam is the best thing that's ever happened to him. Liam. Liam is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Zayn's holding Liam's face in his hands and kissing him desperately, wanting everything at once, wanting it _all_ \- his mouth and his lips and his taste and his scent and his touch, and oh god, he thinks. He’s so overwhelmed and so blissfully happy he doesn't know what to do with himself. He's never felt like this; so unhinged that he can only think about this, can only feel this, like Liam's lips are the only taste in the world and his hands are mapping plains around his spine and his mind is a never-ending chant of his name, and _this is happening_ , and _I love him, I love him, oh god, I love him._

Liam's holding him so close, like he needs this just as much, (and he does, doesn’t he, because Zayn _knows_ now), with his tongue in Zayn's mouth all slick and hot and wonderful. Zayn's head might explode before this is all over with, because this is everything at once. Zayn wasn't prepared for this. He could've never, in a million years, prepare for what it's like to feel Liam Payne kissing him, feeling him, wanting him like this.

"What do you want?" Liam asks when Zayn is kissing at his neck, licking at his skin, reveling in the taste of him.

"You. All of you. Everything," Zayn blabbers, too overwhelmed to really give the kind of answer he’s looking for. " _Liam_.”

Liam sighs a bit, seemingly content, as he grasps at Zayn's hair. Zayn whines a bit at the gesture, unintentionally, but Liam groans in response. Zayn slots one of his legs in between Liam's thighs, spreading them apart, and Liam digs his fingers into Zayn’s hips.

There’s this fire burning underneath Zayn’s skin, each touch of Liam’s skin fueling it more and more. His desire is wracking through his bones and capturing his pulse in a chokehold and it should be scary, how much he wants Liam.

"What do you want?" Liam repeats. Zayn is pressing his lips to Liam’s jaw now, all the way to his chin.

Zayn makes an impatient noise and blindly, without hesitance, drops to his knees. Liam's back hits the door in a manner that looks a bit painful but is mostly really, really hot.

"Oh _fuck_ ,” Liam says, jaw dropping and body going lax against the door as he blinks down at Zayn, eyes wide like he can’t believe the display before him.

"Let me blow you," Zayn says, _begs_ , grasping at Liam's thighs. He licks his lips, hungry for it, even. He's so fucking gone for this man. "Yeah?"

"Wait - wait," Liam says, shaking his head like he's trying to clear his thoughts. "Zayn - I. Fuck. Wait."

At that, Zayn stops everything, stilling his movements. "What is it?"

Liam looks a bit torn, suddenly. His expression morphs into a regretful type of frown as he begins shaking his head. "We - I..."

"What’s wrong?” Zayn tries. “Do you – Do you not want to - ?"

"C'mere," Liam tells him, then, seeming overwhelmed as he reaches to pull him up. "It’s hard to focus when you're - um."

Zayn's lips quirk up a bit at that, but he gets back to his feet without hesitating. Liam looks suddenly anxious and Zayn never wants to mess anything up, never wants to step out of line. He just – he thought.

"Is this - ," Liam starts, his brow still furrowed. He isn’t looking at Zayn when he says, "This is too fast, isn’t it?"

Zayn tries not to frown so obviously when he says, "You think so?”

Liam sighs, seeming to have some kind of internal conflict that he’s just trying to explain properly. And Zayn always wants to listen. “I mean, like, what if we’re getting ahead of ourselves? Should we slow things down a bit? Isn’t it - quite sudden?”

“I,” Zayn says, trying to slow down. He's breathing so hard. The evening itself was a flurry of happenings, from the kiss in the doorway to the car ride to the dinner to making out on the way back and to this, where just moments ago Zayn had been on his knees in front of Liam. It was a bit fast, maybe, but not in a way that was disconcerting to Zayn, at least.

He just says, “If you want to, like.”

“But what do you think?” Liam asks, maybe because he knows Zayn’s habit of becoming too agreeable for the sake of avoiding argument. Maybe because he really cares about Zayn’s input on this. “I’ve been – worrying, and. I want to do this proper. I want to know how you feel.”

Liam seems terribly anxious when Zayn really looks at him; his bottom lip is wearing between his teeth and his eyes switch continuously between looking at Zayn, looking at the floor, looking at his hands. His face keeps twitching nervously as he speaks, nothing in his language steady or sure anymore, like he thinks he’s missing out on his one chance or something. Zayn hasn’t seen him proper nervous in such a long time before tonight.

“This is just – really important. Yeah?” Liam says when Zayn hasn’t said anything, and of course it is.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees easily, his heart swelling at the idea that this is as life-altering for Liam as it is for Zayn. He touches the side of Liam’s cheek, thumb grazing the fullness that appears when a small smile blossoms on his features.

Zayn never thought. Not in a million years.

“Don’t want to mess things up. I want it to be perfect,” Liam reasons, reaching out a bit to touch the sides of Zayn’s waist. Zayn knows he shouldn’t, honestly, but he sighs a bit, trying not to be too disappointed.

Zayn says, “I know. I get it, like. ‘S just been a long time, yeah?”

Liam’s looking at him in a severe type of way, in a way that Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. His hands have their way under the hem of Liam’s untucked shirt, fingers idly grazing at the soft skin on his lower back while Liam presses his lips together in a firm line like he does when he’s thinking hard about something.

Zayn thinks for the millionth time that he could live on the thrill of Liam alone and nothing else. That’s how this feels. It feels vital.

“I - Yeah,” Liam says softly, belatedly, gaze flickering down to Zayn’s lips. “It has, I mean. Been a long time.”

Zayn wasn’t really lying earlier about wanting whatever Liam wanted. Like, maybe he’s got his own ideas and whatever else but he finds it hard to complain about anything at all when he’s got Liam fucking Payne, his best mate, his – _boyfriend_ , really, the same idiot he’d practically pined over listlessly for _years_ , right here in his arms, admiring him and touching him and smiling at him, and Zayn is completely and entirely happy.

It’s quiet for a moment before Liam just says, “I mean.”

“Hm?” Zayn says, running his tongue along his lips as he shifts his hips a bit, trying to focus on what Liam’s saying.

Liam looks deeply conflicted, gaze going back and forth between Zayn’s eyes. “I – ...“

Zayn doesn’t necessarily mean to, but he moves a little closer, hips bumping into Liam’s. Things with Liam have always been like that. An unnamed gravitational pull. He can feel Liam’s breath on his face. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

“What, babe?” he breathes out, because Liam isn’t finishing his sentences anymore.

Liam’s still looking at Zayn’s lips, licking his own, when he says, “Maybe we could – just...”

“Yeah,” he says gently, knowingly. He still feels the fire piercing through his skin. Their noses bump, eyes fluttering shut. It feels amazing, this burning, with Liam in his space like this, hearing the way his breath hitches in anticipation of kissing Zayn. It’s driving him wild. It’s making the world feel so heavy around him, so big and colossal and endless, but his lungs are so light somehow, and he’s smiling and _fuck_.

He loves him so fucking much.

Zayn tells him that, quietly, fiercely, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever say. He isn’t scared, not really, not anymore.

“ _God_ ,” Liam says, and kisses him hard on the mouth.

Zayn whines and feels relief.

Zayn’s needed this for so long, and he’s wanted so desperately, and it’s so much nicer now, he thinks, for all he’s endured. It was never going to be easy between them. That was never in the cards. Falling apart separately and building themselves back up just so they could fall into each other, the right way, this way, with his hand fisted in Liam’s shirt and Liam stealing the breath out of his lungs. This was how it was meant to be.

He’s needed this for so long, he thinks again, and Liam’s needed this, too. Liam’s kissing him so purposefully and they’ve spent years guarding themselves, putting up walls and walking away and holding their own hand when it was all too much. It was so long. So many years and aching thoughts like knives to the fucking chest, again and again, and forgetting to ask, _“hey, you alright?_ ” when that’s all that was needed, really. They never learned to talk about what mattered, the two of them. They’ve always been each other’s support system without really knowing why, not really knowing what was going on, never understanding why Zayn was hysterical on the bathroom floor of a hotel room at two in the morning, or why Liam stopped answering his texts and called him drunk sometimes, or why they would trip over themselves trying to avoid brushing fingertips, searing glances, their throats burning with _want_ and _desire_ and _regret_.

“I want you so bad,” Liam says. “Maybe you’re right, we shouldn’t – we don’t have to wait anymore, yeah? Not if we don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding, pressing his forehead to his.

“Oh, god,” Liam says. His hands tighten at Zayn’s waist. “Zayn, I want you, please.”

“I’m yours,” Zayn swears against his lips.

Liam kisses Zayn harder, harder, and Zayn's never been kissed like this before in his life. It's like everything at once. It's almost too much, but he's so starved for this that he's drinking it all in with abandon.

He slides down to his knees again without warning, hands going under Liam's thighs.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Liam gasps, like he can’t believe it’s really him or something, and Zayn can sympathise entirely with that feeling. He’s gasping down at him, back against the wall, totally pliant and surrendered to Zayn.

“I’m yours,” Zayn says again, breathing heavy as he digs his nails into his leg, nosing his thigh. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Fuck. Me too. I,” Liam says, head knocking against the door, reminding Zayn that they honestly couldn’t make it the few steps to his bedroom without resorting to this. He nearly laughs. "I’m – oh, god.”

"This alright?" Zayn asks carefully, caressing Liam's thighs, a careful thumb rubbing back and forth across the fabric of his pants. "Only if you're ready."

Liam’s thighs are quivering when he says, "I'm. Yes. Please. If you're - "

"I'm sure," Zayn says, and hesitates no more, taking his mouth to Liam’s crotch.

"Jesus, fucking – " Liam curses, eyes slamming shut and hips snapping forward. Zayn can feel him through the layers of material, and he wants him all.

He removes his mouth and slips his fingers into the waistband of Liam's trousers, blinking up at him. "Can I?"

"Please," Liam begs, and it’s fascinating, seeing Liam come apart like this. "Yeah, please, yes. God, yes, actually."

Zayn giggles a bit as he catches the button of his trousers with his thumb to work them open. Liam helps himself out of them, Zayn's fingers running down Liam's muscular thighs. Zayn's mouth nearly waters at the sight of Liam tented in his boxer briefs, waiting for him.

"Liam," Zayn says, thumb grazing the material of his underwear, teasing him gently. "You're so..."

Liam only whimpers a bit in response.

"I've got you," Zayn promises, nosing his dick through the fabric. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Zayn," Liam whines as Zayn slides his boxers down carefully, fingers soft against his thighs, letting them join with his pants where they’ve gathered at his ankles.

He’s so hard already and like, _really_ big and Zayn always knew that in an abstract way (if abstract meant that it starred in all of Zayn’s fantasies that looked an awful lot like this – Liam desperate and needy and Zayn’s face right up near his dick) but it’s a whole new thing to actually see it, right there, in front of him, waiting for Zayn’s attention.

He realises he’s just kind of staring when Liam’s like, “Is this – are you okay?” His cheeks are flushed already but his eyebrows are furrowed as he blinks down at Zayn, nothing but concern in his features.

“Yeah, babe,” Zayn says easily, smiling a bit as he licks his lips. “Just admiring the view, is all.”

“Oh,” Liam says, and he’s blushing even harder now. Zayn takes his hand from Liam’s thigh, dragging his tongue over his palm before making a loose fist to grasp the base of his dick. “ _Oh_.”

He gives a couple of strokes before taking the tip of him in his mouth, something stirring inside him, and he pushes his palm down on his own dick to relieve some of the pressure there.

Liam moans _loud_ , and Zayn takes him deeper, adjusting to the fullness in his mouth and hearing the way Liam’s breathing gets shallower, whines get needier.

Zayn’s experience with this is fairly limited, but he knows what he likes himself, and he wants nothing more to be good for Liam. He takes him further, tongue flattening and just starting to bob his head. It’s when Liam tugs on Zayn’s hair again that Zayn inadvertently moans around his dick in his mouth, and Liam gasps suddenly, hips shooting forward.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Liam gasps, breathless, while Zayn tries not to choke. He moves his hand from his own crotch to better still Liam’s hips, reveling in the way Liam writhes and pants helplessly.

His tongue flattens against the bottom of the shaft and when he looks up, Liam’s eyes are screwed shut and his jaw is dropped, a brilliant display that rivals all of his fantasies. Zayn’s so painfully hard he can’t even think but he can tell Liam’s close already.

“Zayn – Zayn,” Liam pants suddenly, “don’t wanna come like this – I want.”

He pulls off, blinking up at Liam. “What is it, babe?” he asks, still holding his hips.

“Here,” Liam says, and Zayn gets off of his knees again only to be pulled in to kiss Liam on his lips. He can feel Liam’s cock up against his own thigh, and his hips move forward, desperate for the friction. Liam moans, low in the back of his throat, and Zayn shudders.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Li?” Zayn asks against his lips.

Liam groans, kissing Zayn again, before, “Jesus, yes, yes, yes. Please.”

Zayn giggles a bit, admittedly, but he’s so turned on that he just kisses Liam again, all teeth and tongue and no finesse, and grinds against him shamelessly.

Liam’s trousers are forgotten at Zayn’s door as they begin to fumble through the house, kissing in between their steps, all the while trying to get their remaining articles of clothing off. It’s such a mess, honestly, but they keep groaning and moaning as they try to navigate Zayn’s hallway, holding each other close. Zayn pushes Liam up against the wall to kiss his neck again, and Liam takes Zayn by the hips and guides him backwards towards Zayn’s bedroom.

Eventually, they make it in one piece, and Liam is falling against the bed and Zayn is readily climbing on top of him. Zayn still has his underwear on but Liam seems fascinated with his exposed skin, tongue working over all his tattoos, hands roaming freely, touching the bottom of his spine, the back of his legs, the dip of his navel. Zayn had always been fond of the way Liam touched him, always careful and gentle and considerate, but right now Zayn feels absolutely _worshipped_ , like Liam is working at memorizing every last inch of him, whispering praises in between every kiss he presses to his skin.

“Lemme - ,” Zayn says when Liam’s hands are caressing his backside, and leans back to inch his boxer briefs down his thighs. Zayn doesn’t miss the way Liam’s eyes catch on his hardened cock, already curving up towards his stomach, or the way he licks his lips. He reattaches their lips instantly and pulls him closer, their cocks rubbing, and their breaths hitching. They both let out a moan.

“Jesus,” Liam curses, hips jerking forward again, pre-come leaking and Zayn is fucking losing his mind, he’ll come like this if things really carry on much longer.

“Liam,” Zayn says impatiently, breathing into his neck. This feels vital and it feels important, like he’ll never be able to wake up a day in his life without thinking of the way Liam’s warmth envelops his frame, the way Liam feels on his tongue, the way his careful fingers cradle the side of Zayn’s face. “Please, let’s – c’mon.”

“Okay, okay,” Liam says, and then he’s flipping them over so that Zayn is underneath him. He places himself in between Zayn’s knees, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

“Liam?” Zayn says when he hasn’t moved, and he brings his hand up to run through Liam’s soft hair.

“Sorry – I’m,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling a bit. “I’m just sort of nervous.”

Zayn bites down on his tongue. “Hey, ‘s okay. Me too.”

Liam blinks up at him, smiling. He moves up and kisses Zayn on the nose once before sighing. “Okay, we’re gonna do this,” Liam decides, but still looks at Zayn’s eyes with a question.

“Yeah,” Zayn confirms with a nod. “We’re gonna do this.”

“Okay,” Liam says against his lips. “’M ready. I just – do you have stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn says, and turns up the bed to dig condoms and lube out of the drawer. They’re both in Liam’s hands momentarily, and Zayn is mesmerised as he slicks up his long fingers. Zayn is breathing so hard, eyes catching on the broadness of Liam’s shoulders and furrowing of his eyebrows and soft touches, thumb grazing gently on his hipbone. Liam leans down after a moment and sucks a furious bruise onto Zayn's thigh that has him writhing, grasping onto Liam’s skull. Liam then kisses the inside of his knee, gentle and sure, with fingers working him open slow and smooth.

“You good?” Liam asks, lips red and kiss-bitten and wonderful.

“Shit,” Zayn gasps, toes curling when Liam crooks his finger just so. “I – _yes_.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Liam says. “So, so, perfect. I can’t believe I get to have you like this, babe. I really can’t.”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn whines, hips lifting off the bed. He thinks his head is about to explode because there’s no way any of this is happening to him, it can’t be real, it’s too wonderful, it’s too lovely.

It's somehow not quite as messy or haphazard as Zayn might've thought it would've been for how desperate they are for each other. Zayn's eyes keep watering and Liam is touching him so sincerely, eyelashes brushing against his skin and lips carefully pressing all over his chest. He knows that Liam wants to be careful with him, even still. It’s so overwhelming. Everything slows down, even if it should be rushed, but it's perfect. He fucks down onto Liam's fingers inside of him and sees stars, jaw falling open, eyes screwing shut.

Soon enough, Zayn is prepped and missing the feel of Liam’s fingers inside of him already, but waiting eagerly for Liam to press inside, all hard and slicked up.

He's holding onto Zayn's thighs and asking, "is this okay?" every few moments, and won't move until Zayn nods or gasps out an exasperated, "yes, Liam, _please_." Zayn's eyes are still watering and he won't say he's crying, but he's damn near close to it, because Liam is pushing into him so carefully and Zayn is seeing fucking universes blooming beneath his eyelids and the air is sucked out of his lungs. He adjusts to the fullness and waits for Liam to move, but his chest is just heaving up and down continuously.

Liam asks, "Babe? Are you alright?" as he kisses the corner of Zayn's eye where the wetness has gathered.

“Give me a minute,” Zayn gasps, legs wrapping around Liam’s hips. He’s trying to catch his breath, trying to not feel so hysterical, trying to calm himself down so he can revel in every single moment of this.

“I love you,” Liam says, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple, arms bracketing Zayn’s head.

“I love you,” Zayn says, then shifts his hips. He breathes. He’s never wanted anyone like this before. “Okay. C’mon.”

“You sure?” Liam asks, lips still at the side of his face.

"Yes. Please,” Zayn says, “C’mon, Liam.”

"I'll take care of you," Liam promises him, voice gentle. "Always, babe. Always."

Zayn whimpers, and when Liam starts to move, he matches the rhythm he sets up easily. Liam grunts and pants in between Zayn’s gasping and moaning. Liam feels amazing, big and strong above him, around him, inside of him. It's so much. It's more than he ever thought he'd have, with Liam pushing into him, yet all of his movements are so careful and practiced. He’d almost be annoyed with how slow this is going, but at the same time, he wants it to last forever.

He’d spent too long imagining Liam’s tastes on his tongue and strong arms steadying him, and it’s no surprise he surrenders so easily to it all now, willingly spreads himself open, lets himself be fucked apart, completely and entirely Liam’s.

Zayn doesn’t really want anything else, ever again.

It doesn't take long, between Liam's sounds and thrusts and unsteady breathing, before Zayn starts coming apart.

"Babe," Liam says, lips at Zayn's collarbone, driving further into him. He gets his hand around Zayn's hardened cock between them.

"Oh," Zayn says, biting hard on his lip. His eyes are shut and he feels on fire.

"C'mon, babe, come with me," Liam coaxes, and it's impossible then, to ignore such a request.

Zayn's coming in seconds, feeling Liam's thrusts go sharper and less rhythmic, and suddenly Zayn’s name is falling from Liam’s lips as he follows.

“Holy fucking shit,” Liam gasps, collapsing on top of Zayn.

Zayn’s mind falls quiet, focusing on the sound of their lungs struggling for breath. His limbs are boneless and Liam’s sweaty body is covering his and nothing has ever been so beautiful to Zayn in his entire life, nothing has ever felt more important, nothing.

He falls asleep that night with Liam's breath hot on his neck and his thigh overlapping Liam's hip, and it's strange how something so startlingly new and exciting feels so familiar, like he's lived in this before, like he's fallen asleep feeling this chaotic serenity settling under his skin a million times over, even if he knows he hasn't.

And Zayn's half asleep, eyes fixating on Liam's brown tufts of hair beneath his nose in between slow blinks, but he's still wondering why this all feels like muscle-memory, but then again, of course it does. He's loved Liam like this for years, hasn't he?

Liam’s always been vital, his oxygen supply when the world was so suffocating and loud and drowning him, but now he’s interwoven himself into Zayn’s life more closely than he’d ever imagined and he’s just here, pushing breath into Zayn’s lungs continually like he’s been waiting to do this his entire life.

 

 

***

 

 

“Oh, well, hello there.” Liam blinks sleepily as he processes the greeting. It’s almost as if he’d been the one who arrived at Zayn’s door unannounced at half past ten. Maybe he should’ve put on a pair of joggers over his boxers or something before answering the door, but he hasn’t put on proper clothes in days. He’d tried to, but it seemed quite a futile effort.

Harry adjusts his hat a bit, slipping his sunglasses from his face to tuck into the opening of his shirt. He grins, quite cheekily, and raises his eyebrows almost expectantly.

The only time Harry visits is when he’s got some type of agenda, which usually, for Liam specifically, had been a mission to see if Liam was spending too much time moping around his apartment mourning his most recent ex-lover. Harry’s visits are never announced, and he usually brings tea.

“Zayn’s sleeping, Haz,” he says as Harry moves past him towards the kitchen, sitting the drink carrier down. Three drinks, Liam notes, and two chocolate muffins.

It’s comforting to know that even when he’s showing up to Zayn’s apartment, it’s more or less the same process, but with a different purpose, Liam’s assuming.

Liam closes the door, shaking his head and picking up a zip-up hoodie that’s draped over a chair to pull over his shoulders so he’s not so strikingly naked. Not that there’s any reason to be self-conscious around Harry of all people.

Harry seems to be ignoring him, leaning over the sink, necklaces dangling, to turn the faucet on. He only takes a moment to look around, then starts tending to the dishes. Which, again, isn’t too abnormal for his visits, from what Liam knows when Harry has visited his own apartment. Zayn’s much worse about dishes though. It’s his least favourite chore.

“Thought I’d come congratulate the new couple,” Harry says, furrowing his brow at the dirty sponge he’d found under the stack of dishes. “We haven’t heard anything from you.”

“Zayn said he called Louis,” Liam says immediately, joining Harry at the sink. Harry isn’t quite a neat freak, or even particularly tidy, but he seems to like having a task when he’s talking.

“Before, not after,” Harry says, voice calm and unassuming as he runs hot water over a plate.

“Well,”’ Liam says, taking a dish that Harry hands him to place into the washer. “We’ve - I’ve been busy.”

It sounds horrible to his own ears and he blushes furiously, while Harry turns and raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Liam clears his throat, and he realises this is a little scary, probably, for all of them. The other boys, not to mention all the rest of his family and friends, are probably dying to know what’s going on.

It’s only been a few days, but he probably should call and let his sisters, along with Andy and Paddy, and Niall especially, know exactly how fucking miraculous his life is right now. Everything changed in almost no time at all. It’s a lot and it’s a little scary but it’s news, it’s big news, and he wants everyone to know about it. These past few days, though, he’d just gotten too caught up in Zayn. Hopefully that’s understandable when he talks to his sisters finally, given the circumstances and all.

“’S there any particular reason you’ve intruded into Zayn’s home this afternoon, Mr. Styles?” Liam says, but he’s smiling a bit as he glances over his shoulder at Harry.

“Like I said, congratulations and all,” Harry says, handing over a handful of wet silverware. Liam hadn’t really realised how out of hand Zayn’s household chores had gotten. “But I also wanted to see how Zayn was doing. Wanted to hear how things we’re going with you two.”

“Zayn is good,” Liam says, itching at the back of his neck. “And we’re – we’re good. Like, really, really good.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, and he’s smiling, bright eyes and dimples and all.

“Yeah, mate,” Liam says honestly, looking down and chewing on his lip. “I know it’s – a lot at once, but I’ve. I’ve never been this happy, ever.”

Harry watches Liam for a few moments longer before grinning down at the bowl in his hands. He shrugs over in the direction of the drinks. “Got you both tea, of course. Muffins, too.”

“Muffins? What an occasion,” Liam says, and Harry laughs, shaking his head as Liam wipes his hands on his hoodie to retrieve his own.

“Muffins?” Liam hears echoed, and when he turns, Zayn’s appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair is disheveled, wearing nothing but a pair of joggers low on his waist. He blinks a little confusedly at the sight of the two of them, first at Harry then at Liam, but in a moment Harry is crossing the room to wrap his long arms around Zayn. He kisses the side of his face half a dozen times, and Zayn winces for a moment before securing his own arms around Harry’s frame.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Zayn asks. Harry smiles wide and sways them back and forth a bit.

“Love you so much,” is all Harry says, one arm tight around his neck so that he can’t move from the embrace. “And you’re in love, aren’t you? You’re happy?”

Liam feels his heart catch in his throat, because he’s heard Zayn tell him so about a hundred times over the last few days, with his voice shaking, his eyes wide with desire, his smile bright and blinding. But Harry is here and asking him, and Zayn is blushing, and Liam can’t help but feel so dumb and helplessly happy.

Zayn giggles into Harry’s neck and Liam looks on fondly, giddy for no reason at all.

Zayn hums a bit after a moment, eyes squeezing shut, hooking his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He says, “Yeah, I am, like. You don’t even know.”

“Good,” Harry says, pulling apart a bit but still holding his neck. “I’m really happy for you two. We’ve all been wanting you to be happy for so long now.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and he nods seriously. “Yeah, like. I know. We’ve been dumb.”

“The dumbest,” Harry agrees, then turns to Liam. “But all sorted now, yeah?”

“All sorted,” Liam confirms with a nod and a smile in Zayn’s direction. He returns it, tongue pressing up against his teeth, and Liam feels like his life has been an assortment of smiles in Zayn’s direction, catching eyes and sharing warmth and always being on the same page, no matter what. Everything feels like it’s fallen into place.

Louis and Niall have almost no reaction to it all, really, when they first see them together for the first time. It’s quite an event, for Zayn and Liam, but they want to make it as normal as possible. They end up inviting the two of them over to Liam’s place along with Harry about a week after Harry’s visit, and Liam doesn’t realize until he’s got four boys piled up on his sectional couch that it’s one of the first times all of them have gathered alone in ages. Niall rolls his eyes fondly when he sees Zayn and Liam holding hands, and Louis makes a few sex jokes, and that’s that, really. It feels alarmingly normal, all of it, the five of them being together again. The other boys seem equal parts annoyed, fond, and unbothered by the two of them. They hardly mention it at all.

“Missed this,” Niall says softly, when Liam has Zayn sleeping against his side. Louis has stretched his legs to overlap Liam’s thighs, half-asleep, and Harry is curled up like a kitten in the corner of the couch.

“Yeah, mate,” Liam says. “Me too. More than anything.”

“We’re all happy for you,” Niall says. “I know we haven’t said much, but I figure it goes without saying. All we ever wanted was for you guys to sort this out.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, rubbing circles on Zayn’s hip as he snuffles softly into his shoulder. “Like, things really couldn’t be better right now.”

“They really couldn’t,” Niall agrees, smiling brilliantly at him, and Liam feels like so many things have been solved at once.

It isn’t until Liam interacts with Caroline that he becomes proper nervous, because she’s always been protective over Zayn. They’ve maintained their friendship over the years, so it’s no surprise to Liam when she stops by Zayn’s flat one day with Brooklyn. Liam tries not to interject too much, letting them catch up, but he notices very severe looks in his direction throughout the evening.

When Zayn’s distracted with Brooklyn, who’s squealing in his lap and attempting to play with his phone, Caroline approaches him.

“I know you, Liam, and I know you’re a good man,” she says to him, rubbing his shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re gonna take care of my boy.”

Liam hears Brooklyn squeal even louder, and he smiles fondly as he watches Zayn tickle her tummy, giggling as well.

“I absolutely will,” Liam promises as he turns to meet her eyes. “I – he’s the most important thing to me in the world.”

“I love him very much,” she tells him, crossing her arms. “I know he’s got sisters and you’re gonna hear this kind of thing from them, but - he’s always been a little brother to me, you know.”

“I do,” he confirms. “And I take this really seriously, yeah?”

She smiles, then, and nods her head. “He’s quite the treasure, but you know that, of course.”

“Of course,” Liam says, and smiles, too. “I just hope I’m adequate.”

“He adores you,” Caroline says, before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “And I think you’re more than adequate, love.”

And things are almost entirely normal, really, as far as everything goes. They’re both living their lives pretty much the exact same - except they spend more nights than not in each other’s beds, wrapped up in each other. Liam wakes up every morning for his morning run, always finding Zayn there waiting for him when he returns. Zayn spends his afternoons writing or drawing, and sometimes they sing together, and it’s like their lives were always meant to be spent this way - overlapping and intersecting in all these different ways. Liam feels his cheeks ache from smiling at the end of each day, and he curls up against Zayn each night, and he has Zayn’s voice echoing in his head all day long, even in the limited times they’re apart. It’s overwhelming but it’s perfect, too.

They fall into a habit of forgetting the world around them, and everyone they know is making fun of them constantly, giving them a hard time and making fun of how ridiculous they’re acting. Liam knows how embarrassing they’re being, but the torture he gets from his mates because of it feels like his blessing more than anything.

Even still, things are not quite perfect. For all the things that fell into place immediately, eased the tension and brought them to where they are right now, right where they want to be – it’s difficult for the two of them to settle with the reality of it all. There are times where Liam will lean in to kiss Zayn and Zayn will stumble backwards in surprise, knocking into the nearest wall or a cabinet. Sometimes Liam will shy away from Zayn’s touches, not so used to the affection, before realizing a moment too late and bringing him close. There are awkward conversations with friends and family members, and aching in places that haven’t ached for a while, and still a bit of confusion and general miscommunication.

Sometimes, Liam won’t know what to say when Zayn is carefully quiet and holding onto him for dear life. Sometimes, Liam is learning, that loving each other doesn’t fix all the other problems. There’s a lot between the two of them that is far from simple, a lot they haven’t talked about yet, a lot that they’re figuring out how to deal with. It takes time.

Once, Liam finds himself close to tears when he's online, skimming articles about Zayn. The trending topics come back now and again and they say something worse each time. They haven’t stopped saying the most vile shit about him, labeling him the cheating trainwreck of an ex-boybander. It’s nothing but a flurry of slurs and opinions coming from hateful places and it’s all so fucking shit, all of it, Liam can hardly stand it. He nearly shakes with anger. He types an angry, vague tweet about bullshit in the papers and misconstruing the truth and he wants to punch a fucking wall.

"Liam?" Zayn says, voice filled with concern when Liam nearly falls into Zayn's embrace as soon as Zayn opens their door later that night. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Liam says, and hugs him as tight as his arms allow. Zayn stumbles back a step or two, but keeps him close. "I can't protect you from it all and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He feels helpless and powerless but he loves Zayn so much, he doesn’t know what to do with it all. Zayn sighs in a reserved manner and touches Liam's hair, tucking his chin over Liam's shoulder. "Babe."

"It kills me, the things they say about you,” Liam says, and takes a shaky breath, eyes falling shut. “’S not fair.”

"It doesn't matter,” Zayn tells him, and he’s the bravest person that Liam has ever met. All these years, all this time, he’s always had to be so brave. Liam can’t even fathom.

“I love you so much,” Liam says, and he doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but Zayn is so quietly strong and mesmerizing and brilliant. He’s never needed Liam to protect him from anything.

“I love you too,” Zayn says, and they stand in the doorway holding each other for ages after that. Things like this aren’t resolved, not all the way, but they’re understood and kept close to their hearts. They are still vulnerable, even for all their strength, and all the time in the world may not mend these types of things.

Eventually, the two of them end up having conversations between both sets of parents and sisters. Both of their families cry a fair amount and treat the other like they’ve never met their son’s new boyfriend, as if he hadn’t known him for years, hasn’t visited their family home half a dozen times before already. It’s ridiculous and way too much, and unbelievably unnecessary, but they’re each showered with so much affection and kindness and love that they find it hard to complain.

Liam’s mother cries the most, to no surprise, and hugs Zayn about four-dozen times. Seeing his mother telling Zayn that she always knew Liam loved him makes Liam actually start choking up himself, and Zayn doesn’t stop smiling the entire time, not once. Zayn’s parents have a long conversation with them about their relationship, giving advice and endless support and it’s a lot actually, because it seems like everyone they know is rooting for them and really wants them to have this.

There are also conversations between both sets of overprotective friends, and Andy gives Zayn a hug and buys him a drink, which is as much approval as Liam could really ask for. On the opposite end, Shahid and Jawaad and Danny and Ant are insanely chill about it all, and Liam ends up high on Shahid’s couch at four in the morning with his head on Zayn’s lap.

“This is nice,” Liam hums, then keeps humming as his eyes fixate on the ceiling fan whirring above his head.

“Silly,” Zayn giggles, pressing his finger to Liam’s lips. Liam, of course, finds them parting and letting his finger slip inside. Zayn blinks down at him, perplexed, then his jaw falls agape.

“Mates,” Jawaad says from the floor across the room, rolling another joint. “This can’t happen if you’re just gonna make a mess of the couch. I’ll never invite you over again.”

“This isn’t your place, mate,” Shahid puts in. “But, I’d second it, yeah. No shagging on my couch. No shagging in my place whatsoever.”

Zayn’s fingers slip from Liam’s lips, as he blinks over at Shahid. “Wait. D’you have condoms?”

“Mate,” Shahid says, narrowing his eyes. “You not hear what I just said?”

Liam giggles, immediately, turning his face to Zayn’s stomach.

“What about lube?” Zayn inquires. Liam keeps giggling, and he’s so fucking high, and everything’s so stupidly funny. Jawaad makes gagging noises and Liam laughs harder.

“Gross,” Ant says, and takes a hit from the joint as he balances his PlayStation controller on his knee.

“He’s just fuckin’ with ya, mate,” Danny says to Shahid, pausing his video game. “They’re not gonna fuck on your couch. Not while we’re around, at least.”

“Whatever,” Shahid says, seeming vaguely annoyed. “I swear, if there’s a mess on my couch, I’ll fuck a thousand women on that ugly ass recliner of yours.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, affronted. “That’s m’favourite chair.”

“My point exactly,” Shahid says with a raised eyebrow, and Liam starts laughing all over again.

The most surprising thing about it all is how, after spending the last several years living in each other’s back pocket, Liam’s still learning all these new things – like that all of Zayn’s touches mean _Love you_ or sometimes _How are you?_ , or that Zayn is obsessed with Liam’s body, infatuated with his arms and his chest and his stomach, peppering kisses over every inch of Liam’s skin. Liam never realised before that Zayn is kind of needy, and wants to be kissed _always_ , and how his eyes light up every time Liam makes a joke and light up even more when Liam laughs at Zayn’s jokes. It’s fascinating, learning more about a person he thought he knew inside out, and falling in love with each new side he’s never seen before.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Liam asks one night. They're just lying there, actually, fully clothed, not really touching, just breathing. Sometimes they do this, after a show or days of interviews or even when they haven’t had anywhere to be at all. Liam has always felt the need to unwind around Zayn and it hasn’t changed, especially now.

"What do you mean?" Zayn says, looking at Liam from under his eyelashes.

"You're looking at me funny," Liam says, smiling a bit.

Zayn tries to smile back, but fails. He snuggles a bit closer instead, his arm curling around Liam’s waist.

"I'm just thinking," is all he says.

Liam hums, not pressing for more. He watches Zayn more carefully after that, though.

“We’re good, yeah?” Liam wonders after a few moments of silence, a little hesitant when he’s met with the uncertainty in Zayn’s features.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn says, nodding a bit. He bites hard on his lip though, breaking eye contact. “I just, like.”

“What is it?” Liam prompts when Zayn doesn’t continue.

Zayn frowns. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. His lips part a few times, shaking his head the slightest bit, before he blurts: "Do you really want this?"

Liam furrows his brow. "Of course – I – why would you ask me that?"

“I don’t mean to – like,” Zayn says, then stops. He blinks and turns his eyes, chewing on his lip like he does when he’s thinking hard about what he has to say. Liam waits patiently, reaching out to rub circles on Zayn’s hip, but watches him with a careful eye. “It’s just hard to believe that I’m – that this is, you know. All happening like it is.”

Liam stays quiet for a moment, until he understands.

“I’ve waited for you for years, you know,” Liam says. “It wasn’t – like. This isn’t an all of a sudden thing for me. If I wasn’t sure, I – I wouldn’t be here, and the only thing that kept this from happening sooner is me not knowing you felt the same way. Me never asking, never even dreaming that you’d feel the same way, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says quietly.

Liam holds his gaze, continuing. “This is what I want, Zayn. More than anything. You could never imagine.”

Zayn swallows and Liam knows that Zayn has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he knows that something like this must be a tough pill for Zayn to swallow, but Liam’s told him every day that he loves him and wants him, and somehow Zayn keeps doubting, he keeps thinking this is some impossible dream, he keeps thinking he doesn’t deserve this.

He sees it in his unsure frown and downcast eyes right now, and that’s what’s breaking Liam’s heart.

Liam takes a breath, trying to center himself, before: "I love you, and I – and I don't know how else to say it anymore. I can't tell anyone the way I want to tell them – because, it’s like, my mates never get it, and my mother just cries, and the boys think we’re nuts for all the shit we’ve dragged out over the years." Liam smiles a bit, and Zayn does, too. "At the same time, though, I don't know how to not say it, either. I don't know how to keep from telling the world I love you, Zayn, so I hope you'll let me, yeah? I hope you'll let me love you the way I've been waiting to, all these years. I hope you’ll let me love you all the ways I know how. Let me touch you, and worship you, and breathe you in. Protect you and support you and dream with you, right by your side, right in the place you've kept for me all this time without me knowing it."

"Liam," Zayn says thickly, and his eyes wide and beautiful.

He rests his forehead on Zayn's and takes a breath, before continuing.

"I want you so much I can't think, these days, and it's more than your body, and it's more than an infatuation. It's everything, like, I don't know. It's this pull - this force, and it's these dreams that I've never been able to stop having and it's just you. I want all of you; the parts you haven't shown me yet, and the parts I've gone over and over again and have never grown tired of, and never will. I want you. I want you so much," Liam says, swears. "I hope you'll let me show you how much I want you. I hope that you'll see."

Zayn is crying a little bit, and the last time Liam saw Zayn crying was in a castle before anything was solved. It wasn't crying quite like this, though. He wasn't smiling and looking like Liam was his entire world. He wasn't looking like he'd just heard the most important thing in his entire life.

"I love you so much. Holy fuck," Zayn gasps, and Liam runs a hand through his thick, dark hair.

"I'm tired of the drama and the pining and all the fucked up things we've done, okay?” Liam says. “I'm tired of it. I just want you and I never want to think about anything else ever again. Can we do that?"

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah," Zayn says, pulling Liam in by the back of his neck, a gesture Liam completely surrenders to.

They kiss and that’s it. They don't need any more questions. They don't need to wonder or worry or feel lost. Liam's spent his time there, and so has Zayn, and they have this now. They're allowed to enjoy it.

Liam pushes Zayn flat onto the bed, his knee moving over his thighs to straddle his hips. Zayn’s hands are in his hair and it's like, Liam should be tired, he should go to bed, but it's two in the morning and his boy is in his arms. There's nothing appealing about sleep, and there's everything appealing about the feel of Zayn's tongue licking into his mouth.

Liam’s immediately overwhelmed, and kissing Zayn in and of itself is so much, and he can’t believe he gets to do this all the time. Kissing Zayn has become such an ordinary part of his life somehow when not even a few weeks ago he was still keeping himself awake at night, recreating that day when they were eighteen in his mind over and over again, that day when they were twenty and intoxicated and confused and lost. And those memories are still there, but they’re cluttered in between a thousand more memories of other kisses, the ones they exchange when they’re half-awake, when they’re fucking, when they’re saying goodbye and saying hello, good morning, how are you, I love you so much.

He’s kissing Zayn and Zayn’s already hard, Liam notices, because Zayn’s rocking into him and biting on his bottom lip and oh, god, he’ll never, ever get used to this. He’ll never be able to comprehend how much he wants Zayn, completely and entirely.

"Can I blow you?” Liam asks, pulling apart, breathless.

“Oh,” Zayn gasps, eyes snapping open and hips angling up to meet Liam’s. “Yeah, yeah.”

Liam then moves down his body, kissing down Zayn’s chest, teasing his nipples with his teeth. Soon enough Zayn’s pants are being pulled halfway down his thighs. Liam massages his thigh for a moment, mouths at his hipbone, as Zayn whimpers desperately. Whenever Liam finally takes Zayn into his mouth, he watches as Zayn’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

He's not sure what to think because every time these things happen he's reminded of how his daydreams pale in comparison to reality. Zayn is perfect, and they’re perfect together. It's like their bodies know each other, like they've been in sync, like they’ve known all their lives the ways to make each other pant and gasp and shout, they do it with such readiness and grace and ease, not even a question or hesitance.

Zayn’s forehead is sweaty and he's squeezing his eyes shut, and he’s willing Zayn to look down at him. Liam is thorough, having licked his wet palm to wrap around the base of his cock. He licks up the shaft, flattens his tongue on the underside of his prick, hollows his cheeks. Zayn whimpers the entire time, cursing and begging Liam’s name.

Just when Liam’s hands come up to steady his bucking hips, Zayn seems to practically force his eyes open to look down. Zayn's dark eyes meet his for a long moment, those godforsaken eyelashes swooping so delicately over his cheekbones, and just as Liam feels him hit the back of his throat, Zayn comes suddenly with a shout.

Liam swallows him down without question, and presses down on his own erection as he does. He pulls off of Zayn, crawling up his body, and Zayn immediately reaches down, slipping his hand down his joggers and puts a hand around him without even really taking anything off. Liam comes with a few steady strokes, biting Zayn’s neck and whimpering in a broken sort of way.

He gives out on top of Zayn, breathing hard in his ear. Liam's head might explode. He feels weightless and dumb and impossibly in love.

"Oh my god," Zayn says after a moment, throwing an arm over his face, blushing like mad. "I meant to warn you, but I. Oh my god."

Liam looks up at Zayn, sitting up a bit. "You're alright, love," he says, somehow shy, even though he'd literally just had Zayn’s cock in his mouth moments before.

They're both breathless but Zayn just cuddles up against his chest, arm falling across his stomach.

Liam looks at him, feeling overwhelmed and in love. Zayn licks his lips. Liam thinks of the hotel in Los Angeles, when he'd licked his lips, and how he’d been so overwhelmed that he’d kissed him on the mouth. Liam kisses him solidly because he doesn't just have to think of kissing Zayn anymore.

It's final, then. When everything before was a question. When everything before was doubt and fear and regret. It's final, and they can seek each other out for warmth and comfort and know that they are loved now. It isn't something that was graceful or magical or fantastically fated, maybe. It was weird and broken for a long while. But now they can turn into each other's arms and feel what they were missing, sinking into the place carved in Zayn's arms that he fits into, feeling Zayn press his face into the spot below his jaw and press soft little kisses there. It's wonderful. It's beautiful. It’s everything Liam thought he’d never have, warm and solid in his arms, sure and content.

They let themselves just be, right then, and it's somehow, miraculously, the only thing Liam thinks he'll ever really need again. And nothing about it scares him, not anymore.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

 

 

Something about right now feels so endless, Zayn thinks, swaying a bit with his hands pressed up against the cool ceramic of the sink. He blinks down to the dripping faucet, the harsh bathroom lights in his vision. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but his thoughts have been racing and he needed a bit of quiet, maybe. Today has been a lot.

For someone like Zayn, sometimes slowing down and seeking out five minutes to breathe is a luxury. It’s never personal. He adjusts his hair in the mirror, runs his fingers over his clean-shaven jaw. He avoids his own eyes and licks his lips once, twice. His heart is racing. Something feels so, so endless and it’s in the air, it’s in the music and all of the conversations he’s had with his family and from the first moment Zayn saw him today, he knew he wouldn’t be able to come down from this high.

Nothing about today felt real.

Today is Zayn’s wedding day, and he’s just married the love of his life.

He takes a shaky breath, chewing on his lip. He centers himself, counting to ten. He takes another breath. He thinks of all of the impossible things happening to him right now, and he doesn’t know what to think of it at all.

Zayn’s mind is racing, and he’s thinking of knowing how he’s felt for years and years, long before he allowed himself to feel it. His life became so different when he went from knowing he was in love, to suffering in love, to being able to say he was in love, to finally, _finally_ being able to accept love. Zayn thinks again about acceptance, then forgiveness, and how nothing about today made anything for him more certain, but it made it well known. Today gave the two of them a moment and a day to look back on and see how they arranged this all, and it quickly became an event for their friends and family more than for them, to watch the two of them proclaim these things in silly tuxes and cry over vows and shower them with affection and support and so, so much love.

Zayn’s mind is racing, but he knows that he will wake up tomorrow feeling full and content and certain, the same way he’s woken up every day for the last three years. He knows that every day from now will exist around this sureness and completeness, and even when he stutters or loses his way, he can turn to - to his _husband_ and find acceptance, find forgiveness, find love.

He knows Liam is out there in the reception hall having a chat with Zayn’s parents, probably squinting his eyes while he laughs adorably at all of their jokes, maybe dancing with all of Zayn’s sisters and cousins. Zayn knows that his best mates are drinking too much wine and his mum is telling embarrassing stories and everyone is still waiting to cut the cake but Zayn had been so overwhelmed he could hardly touch his dinner, and opted instead to hold Liam’s hand under the table, gawk at him a bit and giggle, too fond to say anything at all.

Love is endless, Zayn thinks. He holds his own gaze in the reflection of the mirror and catches himself smiling. His heart is hammering and his palms are still sweaty, but this feeling is endless, it’s wonderful, it’s perfect, and this feeling right here is embedding itself inside his bones, and lifts him up every hour, minute, second of the day.

He loves Liam so much.

Because Zayn’s thinking that time does not stop for anyone, and the moment he took control of his life became the moment that things started to fall into place for him, even if it was in the most unconventional and unpredictable of ways. Even if there was a lot of second-guessing and doubt and confusion, even if he didn’t fall into this head-first and let everything go at once. Even if Zayn had to learn over the last few years that he and Liam had a lot of things to work through and understand, had to take time to figure out what this was going to be like for them, had to understand that not everyone was going to understand or accept them, and they would have to live with that.

It’s taken time to get where they are today, and they’re a decade older than they were when they met which means they were very different people before this all started. They were boys, really, hardly understood much about love at all, and they grew up together, and they grew into each other, became extensions of each other, became as vital as life support. And now they’ll grow old together, too.

Zayn knows love now, he knows it so well. He spent years past thinking love was cruel and unforgiving and relentless. He spent so long wrapped up in his own self-deprecating thoughts and wouldn’t let anyone inside, wouldn’t let _Liam_ inside. He hates thinking about before and how little he understood, but it shows where he came from, it shows how much he’s really learned and grown since he was a clueless nineteen-year old boy in a band with a massive crush on one of his bandmates and dearest friends. And it’s been years since Liam came to his flat that day, insisting to speak with him, pouring out his heart for Zayn to see. It’s been years since everything. They’ve conquered so much.

Zayn knows love. He sees it all the time when Liam is pressing kisses to his skin each night and burning breakfast every other morning and singing with him in the shower, giggling over an episode of Friends they’ve seen a million times already, forgiving Zayn when he falls asleep almost every single time they go to the movie theater.

Zayn sees it in himself too: how he’s always finding Liam’s hand, no matter what, and memorizing the feel of his abdomen under his lips and shoving his cold feet under Liam’s thighs, writing him songs and feeling like they sound so dumb but showing them to Liam anyway. Still being surprised when he hears the way their voices sound together, and how the one thing that brought them together still sounds so sweet, even after all these years.

He sees the ways they love each other and the things that he’s learned in the last few years and the things that have always stayed the same between them, the things that were the beginnings of something miraculous that they could never understand when they were younger, but now, after quite a bit of time and effort, they are allowed to fully enjoy.

It’s so much to wrap his head around. But he’s never been happier.

Zayn has felt this endlessness all day, even if waking up at Louis’s flat was a little weird for recent times. He hadn’t woken up without Liam’s warmth surrounding him, arm snaked around his waist, nose under his jaw, in ages. He hadn’t woken up frowning at the emptiness in his arms in years.

“You can’t see your groom on your wedding day, you arse,” Louis had said the night before, shaking his head while Zayn pouted in his passenger seat. “I’m not usually a man of tradition, but it’s bad luck."

“Whatever,” Zayn had said, still mostly moping. He didn’t care about or believe in luck, and being apart from Liam to be harassed by his mates for the rest of the evening was not his ideal way of spending the night before his wedding. He just wanted to cuddle with Liam.

Louis had taken a turn and muttered, “For a lad who’s been through this process before, you’d think he’d know…”

“Oi, Louis, pipe down,” Niall had barked from the back seat. “You act like you’re surprised they’re whining as much as they are. They hardly go half a day without each other. Leave ‘em be.”

At that, Zayn’s phone had lit up with a text from Liam.

_My sisters keep talking about how fit you’re gna look in your tux, but theyre ignoring me :(_

And Zayn had smiled, texting back a smirking and tongue out emoji, before he gets another text instantly.

_And they won’t let me watch Madagascar :( This is horribleee Zaynnn I miss you already_

“It’s been all of thirty minutes and they’re non-stop texting,” Louis had said, and Zayn didn’t have to look to know he was rolling his eyes as he drove. “Unbelievable.”

“Lou,” Niall had said. “‘S gonna be like this all night. They act like fuckin’ teenagers. Might as well get used to it.”

Despite their bickering, it was a rather quiet night, with Niall showing them some new songs he’d been working on for whatever he was doing nowadays, and then Louis inviting a few of his own friends over to play video games and drink a few pints. Zayn had kept texting Liam and reciting his vows in his head for the seven thousandth time, and even still, he’d been convinced he was going to stumble over them the entire time or shake or tear up or empty his stomach right at the altar. He needed to remember not to eat anything beforehand.

But since the morning, after slipping into his tux in his family home and complimenting his sisters’ dresses and giggling nervously on the car ride there, the endless feeling seemed to crawl through his veins, kept his eyes wide and bright and smile continuous. Zayn had Liam’s smile in his mind all morning and he was singing under his breath for no reason at all and he didn’t know what to do with himself, he was so excited and the energy inside him was thrumming and alive. It’d been a small wedding, really small, and there was only a handful of Liam’s family that he hadn’t met before. It’d been nothing short of perfect.

The vows hadn’t been a total mess, unlike Zayn’s predictions. Zayn had been somehow completely unprepared to go first, and immediately seized up, but when he locked eyes with Liam, his cheeks rosy and eyes shining, he had never felt so sure of anything in his life. Still, it hadn’t stopped his hands from shaking, but he’d kept from stuttering too much, and couldn’t help smiling the entire time. The words had poured out of him and he didn’t even know what he had said, actually, if he was really saying what he’d rehearsed; he had just been talking and Liam had kept giggling and their families had been aww’ing and Zayn had felt breathless after it all.

 When it had been Liam’s turn to speak, he carefully unfolded a piece of paper from under his jacket with trembling hands, and smiled nervously up at Zayn. Zayn’s heart had caught in his throat and didn’t budge. He stayed carefully stoic the entire time, couldn’t move or blink. He could only listen to Liam.

“I love you, Zayn,” Liam had said, finishing up, “I can’t imagine a life without you.”

“Yeah,” Zayn had said dumbly, attempting to clear his throat and nearly choking.

He thinks their friends and family laughed or cooed or something, but he had been wiping his eyes and trying not to look like a complete wreck. Liam had giggled and leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of his face. He had pulled away, smiling brightly. “Can we do this now?”

“Yeah,” Zayn had said again, nodding and biting his tongue. Everyone he loves had been right in that room, and he had never felt so sure. It all felt so impossible but he wanted it with everything in him. He will always want Liam. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

And now, Zayn’s still sort of swaying at the sink, wanting to loosen his bow tie but worried about looking a little too sloppy for the rest of the reception. There’s still some more pictures that are going to be taken, especially with the cake and all. Liam’s out there waiting for him, probably. He should go. He should stop lingering.

“Are you alright?”

Zayn turns to see his father, broad-shoulders and dark eyes, standing in the entrance of the bathroom. He realizes he must look strange, hovering over a sink in silence.

“Yes – yeah, I’m fine,” Zayn says, turning a bit and running a hand down his dress shirt. “Of course.”

“Zayn,” his father says, like he did when he was a child and wasn’t telling the full truth.

Zayn swallows, rubs the back of his neck a little sheepishly. Everything feels so endless. His mind is thinking a million different things - because how did he get here to this moment? There was so much time in between the moment he met Liam, all young and boyish and awkward, and now, both with stronger jaws and a few inches taller and just a bit wiser, but at the same time, it’s hardly been any time at all. It feels so fresh in his mind, what it was like to catch eyes with Liam for the first time and fall into step together like they’d been waiting to do it their entire lives. Zayn had been waiting for Liam his entire life. But for years it was such a confusing mix of emotions and happenings and time spent apart and time spent too close and suddenly, somehow, they made it. Zayn doesn’t know what to think.

How did he get here?

“This is a lot,” Zayn says finally, careful to keep from his father’s intense gaze. “But I’m – I’m sure of Liam. I’m so sure. I love him.”

His father smiles, and when Zayn finally catches his eyes, he somehow feels immensely comforted.

“I know,” he says. “But what’re you worried about, beta?”

Zayn would argue that he isn’t worried, really. Zayn would argue that obviously, this is the best day of his life, he’s in a small little reception hall right outside of London and the love of his life has been smiling so beautifully all day, and his boys are here and his family is here and everything, everything he’s _ever wanted_ , is right here. There’s nothing to worry about. There shouldn’t be.

It’s just.

“It’s just,” Zayn starts, biting his lip. “I just want to be good for him. ‘Cause I’ve messed up before, baba, but – he’s my world.”

His father smiles again, sighing a bit. If there’s a man Zayn wants to model his entire existence after, it’s his father, with all his quiet strength and determination and wisdom.

He says to Zayn, “You’ll be good for him. You _are_ good for him. You love him so much, I can see it, and everyone else saw it today too. You tried from the beginning to make this work, even when it wasn’t supposed to, and I’d say that you’ve conquered a lot with this man and you’ve grown together, Zayn. I have complete and entire faith in you.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He’s shaking a little bit, closing his eyes and thinking of kissing Liam earlier today, in front of everyone he loves. Holding Liam and smiling the hardest he’s ever smiled. Knowing that he would live in this moment forever, if given the chance. All of his thoughts today are so long and so lasting and everything is impossible, yet everything is happening exactly how it should.

“Don’t let your past define your future,” his father says when Zayn hasn’t spoken. “Things were much different before, you know that. You said it yourself, you’re certain of Liam. And I’m certain of the two of you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, opening his eyes and shaking his head a bit, as if to clear his mind. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I just can’t help but feel - like, unprepared, maybe. It’s scary, I guess.”

“It’s more than a little scary,” his father says. “I understand how you feel. But what you said up there today, and what he said, too - we all know how much you love and support each other. No matter how inadequate you might feel some days, Liam makes you feel better, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding with his eyes downcast, and he already feels like tearing up again. “Always.”

“And he’ll always be there to reassure you,” he tells him. “Because he’ll need reassurance sometimes too, I’m sure. You’ll be fine, beta. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Zayn’s wiping at his eyes, smiling. “Thank you, baba.”

“C’mere,” he says to him, before sweeping him up in a hug, pressing a kiss to his face. Zayn falls into the embrace, and he’s been hugged about four-thousand times today, but he’s never felt like he needed a hug more than this one right here.

Zayn really has the best parents in the entire world.

“There you are,” Zayn hears, and pulls apart from his father to see that Liam has appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“Hi,” Zayn says, sniffling a bit. His father chuckles.

“You good?” Liam asks, brow furrowing slightly.

“Yeah,” Zayn says immediately, and he doesn’t mean to be smiling still but he is, rubbing at his eyes. “A lot of crying today, yeah?”

“But happy crying,” Liam insists, bouncing on his toes a bit. He’s smiling, now, too. “The best kind of crying.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says again, and he can feel his father looking at him, but he can’t keep his eyes from his husband, so radiant and amazing and positively beautiful. “Definitely.”

“C’mon, boys,” his father says, as Liam steps aside to let him outside of the bathroom door. “You’ve got guests out there waiting on you.”

The bathroom door swings shut and neither of them move. Zayn’s still standing there by the sink, glancing up at his reflection in the cheap little mirror, water stains splashed on the bottom of it. He shifts his gaze to see Liam in the reflection, still standing by the door, smiling the tiniest bit.

“I’m really happy right now, Zayn,” Liam says, catching his eyes in the mirror.

Zayn’s still smiling. “Yeah,” he says, looking down to the sink. “Today really couldn’t have been better.”

“It really couldn’t have,” Liam agrees, then bites his lip. “It’s not quite over yet, though. They’re probably wondering where we’re hiding.”

“Right,” Zayn says, and glances up at his reflection once more before turning. “Can’t let them think we’re being naughty in here.”

“They honestly probably wouldn’t put it past us,” Liam says, laughing as Zayn steps into his space.

“Probably not,” Zayn agrees, and leans up to kiss Liam on the side of his jaw.

The rest of the night involves more wine and dancing to Beyonce and sharing wedding cake and toasts, and it all feels so sincerely intimate. He’s swept up in more hugs and receives so many kisses on the cheek and thanks people over and over for coming, for their gifts, for their support. He gazes at Liam some more and catches him gazing back, and blushes, and kissed him for the hundred thousandth time.

And maybe it feels so endless because it is endless, Zayn considers, swaying back and forth in Liam’s arms. He catches eyes with Danny across the dance floor, who winks at him and sends him a dorky smile. He buries his nose into Liam’s neck and presses closer, hardly even listening to the song playing at all, not even realizing minutes later when all of the music has stopped.

Zayn’s mind is still racing, and he feels that pressing feeling under his skin, and he’s weightless. He wants Liam and even though things are changing all the time and he’s seen people leave without looking back and he’s let new people in and he’s not on the same path he was on five years ago at all, this hasn’t changed. He can look back and say that it didn’t always make sense to him, and it wasn’t always rational, and he might have been really dumb about what this meant before, but he has always, always had a longing for this man to be wrapped up in his arms in any way that was allowed. He never cared about the details, or the situation. He just wanted Liam. He always wants Liam.

Zayn’s holding the love of his life in his arms, and it’s a cheesy moment, maybe, with the two of them still swaying even though the music has long faded. And it’s easy, honestly, to sink into this. It’s wordless and gigantic and impenetrable.

Because once love is understood it becomes nearly wordless - it operates on its own and manifests in his life so intricately that Zayn can’t even control it. It’s a small smile that they share on their wedding day, it’s a warm hand on his back, it’s rolling his eyes when Harry is still so exceedingly fond of the two of them, steps and smiles and thoughts all syncing up just so. It’s knowing that he’ll always keep this permanent place at his side for Liam to curl into, forever. It’s unmistakable. It’s unimaginable and it makes Zayn nervous and it makes him question how good he is for Liam but then again, he knows. He knows what Liam gives to him and he knows what he gives to Liam. He knows the understanding and acceptance that they provide for each other, and have always been so ready to provide.

“Love you,” Liam says, kissing the side of Zayn’s head.

“Love you too,” Zayn says, everything in his being radiating with it, this love for Liam. It’s not complicated and his chest doesn’t ache at night and there aren’t years of longing separating them anymore and he’s not missing any pieces, everything entirely whole, and just as it should be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @ [soofyahn](soofyahn.tumblr.com), where I talk and gush and cry about Zayn/Liam on the regular.


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